


Porcelain Inheritance

by OverexcitedDragon



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Abuse, Ciel Phantomhive is a Brat, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Dubious Consent, Grooming, I didn't tag it as rape but Ciel is 13 and Sebastian is in his late 30s so, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Past Child Abuse, Sebastian talks like Frollo, Slut Shaming, TW knee socks, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, and a slut, and the POV reads super gross!, background Sebastian Michaelis/Vincent Phantomhive, background Vintwins, do with that what you will, don't let the tags fool you Vincent is DEAD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24656164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverexcitedDragon/pseuds/OverexcitedDragon
Summary: Sebastian never really wanted to be a parent.Though, you see, Sebastian wouldn't have minded being a parent. The kind who wrapped lunches and signed school papers and placed band aids on concrete scuffed knees.But Vincent never gave him the opportunity to choose.And then, suddenly, there was Ciel.
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/Ciel Phantomhive
Comments: 97
Kudos: 262





	1. First: Worcester Tea Cup

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Nymphet of Suburbia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23281834) by [Amanitus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amanitus/pseuds/Amanitus). 



> The dynamics within this work were heavily inspired by Nymphet of Suburbia, by Amanitus. go read it, it's a work of art.
> 
> Sincere thanks to my beta who deals with so much shit from me, @/WorstThirst on Twitter. Give her some love!
> 
> Follow my Twt @ overexciteddrgn for like, art n stuff
> 
> And without further ado...

Vincent entrusted the kids to him. Sebastian said _yes_.

Sebastian was to care for them both as if they were his own. In case of an emergency… or something.

 _Or something_.

 _As if_ Vincent of all bloody people was going to die, ever. As if fucking Vincent, almighty and rich and powerful, living life with a smile that made him look like bloody royalty, was going to kick the bucket.

What a load of arse. All of it.

There was a fire. There was a funeral. And before Sebastian even remembered what it all meant for him when back then he had said “fucking yes, sure, whatever,” when asked to be a godfather while drunk on whiskey and on Vincent’s cock with his pregnant wife in the next room…

There was _Ciel_.

The boy didn’t utter a word the whole ride to Sebastian’s place. Sebastian didn’t either. The only words in his mind weren’t fit for a mourning child to hear, still clad in a black button up and black shorts.

 _Shorts_. To a funeral.

Ciel’s feet were on the dashboard. Sebastian wanted to tear them off.

When they finally arrived home, Ciel already knew the way to his bedroom. He already had one, after all. Like having kids, to Vincent, meant Sebastian was going to have them too. Meant Sebastian’s guest room was _obviously_ going to be filled with plush toys, forgotten clothes, and undelivered homework from fucking middle school.

He didn’t think much of it at first.

Not when Vincent barged in to ask for his free babysitting services. Not when the twins stopped by after school to pick up clothes they had forgotten two Summers ago. Not when Rachel thanked him profusely for always being so helpful with the twins.

Now he didn’t have shit to _think_ about because it was _done_. Sebastian lost his lover, lost his friend, and kept the leftovers.

But maybe he was being too harsh.

He didn’t hate Ciel, with all his quiet and bratty demeanor, with the high and mighty way he corrected people when they were minutely wrong, or with the way he ordered rather than asked. No, he didn’t hate Ciel, he was a kid, barely in high school with his whole life turned upside down. Going through fucking everything all at once. He had changed Ciel’s diapers, watched the boy babble his way through words, broke up fights between him and his brother. He didn’t hate Ciel, no.

He hated _Vincent_.

The man had a way of keeping everyone wrapped tight and neat around his finger, like a thread of a leash. He would curl his finger inwards, and you would come. That’s how it worked around Vincent, so of course Ciel would inherit it, that shit eating grin and that nasty habit of thinking the world belonged to him, his feet belonged on the dashboard of Sebastian’s car, and his undelivered school work belonged in Sebastian’s house.

The guest room door slammed.

 _Bedroom_ , he corrected himself, bile rising in his throat as reality set in.

Bedroom. _Ciel’s_ _bedroom_.

Sebastian prepared supper.

Time passed like dripping sewer sludge, and yet the silence of the house wasn’t broken by a single sob or cry or scream from upstairs.

The kid hadn’t cried once during the funeral. Not a whimper.

Sebastian wondered if he was that strong or just much too _weak_.

He knocked on Ciel’s door with a plate of squid ink risotto carefully balanced on his fingers.

“Come in…” Sebastian barely heard.

He opened the door to Ciel laying belly down on the bed with his legs spread open and the shorts riding up. Looking at his phone, one earphone in. Legs swinging in the air.

Shoes on the bed.

Sebastian would have to address that. At some point.

“I brought food.”

“‘M’not hungry. Thank you, Mr. Michaelis.”

“You haven’t eaten all day. Just a bite.”

Ciel looked over his shoulder, the deep blue pools that should’ve lost their shine were catching sunlight from the window.

Sebastian walked towards Ciel and crouched beside him.

“Here. Squid ink risotto, it’s good.”

Ciel looked at it with suspicion. He then sat up, thighs pressed against each other like a girl sitting pretty. He took the hot plate and laid it on those bare, pale thighs. Took a bite.

“S’nice. Thank you, Mr. Michaelis.”

“Sure.”

There was a beat of silence, before Ciel looked up at Sebastian again. “I’m gonna live with you now, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you are.”

“Did daddy tell you anything?”

Sebastian frowned, “What do you mean?”

Ciel looked down. “Ah.” Was the only answer. He looked back up, but didn’t say anything, just stared very intently into Sebastian’s eyes.

Deep, piercing, ocean jewels. Big and bright.

“Do you wanna talk?” Sebastian tried, unnerved.

Ciel was pensive.

“I miss them.”

Sebastian sighed. It was hard to breathe.

“I miss them too. I’m really sorry.”

“Mhmm.”

“I’ll help you, okay? Let me know what you need, I’ll do my best. Vincent would’ve wanted me to take care of you.”

“‘Kay.” Ciel said, but his eyebrows raised at the man’s statement. A silent question he didn’t need an answer for.

Sebastian reached a hand to gently squeeze the boy’s. Ciel squeezed back, looking down. Legs swinging.

And Sebastian _was_ going to take care of this damn boy. With all his shitty demeanor, Vincent still cared so very deeply for his boys. And it showed every time he touched them, kissed them, held them close. He put them in the best schools, bought them the best clothes, fed them the best food. Vincent had the money for it, too, the rich bastard, so he flaunted that love in every way he could.

Sebastian couldn’t give _that_ to Ciel, not anymore. Not with his job. But he could give him _something_. Could keep him in the same school, could buy him new clothes. He could feed him and cherish him.

Sebastian was going to give this boy a good life if it fucking killed him.

Because Vincent would’ve wanted that.

Sebastian took a deep breath.

He walked out of the room, managed to not slam the door.

_God fucking damn it, Vincent..._

* * *

Sebastian didn’t understand, really, who Ciel was.

He had held the boy as a baby, yes, watched over him, watched him grow. Godfather, family friend, _Mr. Michaelis_ with whom they had sleepovers every once in a while.

But there was a lot he hadn’t noticed.

Until now, when it was too late.

Of _course_.

Ciel wasn’t quiet, but he was very careful. He picked his words, his moves were deliberate, it was like watching a shy cat trying to figure out if Sebastian was friend or foe. It was unnerving, to say the least.

 _That_ , he knew.

What Sebastian did not know, or maybe just hadn’t realized until now, was that this recontextualized a lot of the way Ciel spoke, moved, and dressed.

To put it plainly, Ciel was a _slut_.

It wasn’t like Sebastian hadn’t seen the shorts, crop tops, loose tank tops, and high cut socks before. It wasn’t even that he hadn’t noticed how Ciel always spoke with the edge of a smirk, how his pained whines were a little too high pitched, how his lips were always pink and glossy… really, Sebastian had seen it all before, but there was, firstly, the This Isn’t My Problem Factor, which tends to blind people to issues they don’t want to even _think_ of dealing with, but secondly, the twins were the only kids he had had direct contact with for, god, over a decade now.

So there was the assumption, of course, that this was _normal_.

That the girly short pyjamas, the revealing clothing, the crossing and uncrossing of legs, the odd looks from beneath thick lashes, were all normal. Kid’s stuff. Tween stuff. Puberty. _Whatever_.

Hindsight is always 20/20.

Sebastian’s awakenings were rude and embarrassing to such an extreme that he simply refused to bring them up. Ciel putting on lip gloss on the entrance hallway and smacking his lips as he looked up at Sebastian, slowly bending over to adjust his knee high socks, sitting with his back so straight it almost arched, painting nails in the living room with soft light colors, and worst of all, _the bloody lace panties in the laundry_.

Now that, _that_ , Sebastian especially _did not_ allow himself to even think about, he just gently hand washed them with a loud buzzing in his ears. Hand washed, because he wasn’t a savage, no matter how much his hands shook while working.

Sebastian was slowly understanding a little more of who Ciel was, and he wasn’t sure he was liking it. Wasn’t sure he was ready to face his memories of Vincent’s kids, of _Vincent_ , with this new and… uncomfortable context.

He was way out of his depth already, and he had a bad feeling his problems hadn’t even properly begun.

He was painfully correct.

It could have been the deliberately skimpy outfits, the calculated words, the stone face, or the complete indifference toward his own situation. Or just everything put together, really, but it was all just driving Sebastian _mad_.

He needed to focus on making sure the assets were being kept safe until Ciel turned 18, needed to focus on helping family members claim their slices of the Will, needed to make sure Ciel kept going to school… it was so much, all of the sudden. Fucking Vincent. _Fucking Vincent_.

 _Will you be the godfather, Sebastian?_ , as Sebastian’s lips wrapped around his cock, tasting salt and musk.

 _Will you be my Will executor, Sebastian?_ , as Vincent slowly bounced on his cock through the night.

And he said _yes_ like the stupid, moronic, smitten teenager he was. Now _look_ at him…

Stuck with Vincent’s leftovers, stuck with Vincent’s promiscuous kid, stuck _without Vincent_. His stupid smile and his cruel hands…

His biggest problem was by far _Ciel_ , much too young to be left alone, much too old to be adopted off to random distant relatives. And _showing off_ , and _eating Sebastian’s snacks_ , and _shoes on the damn bed_.

Sebastian would’ve preferred to keep his bloody backside off jail, be it for beating a kid or for…

Damn it.

 _Damn it_.

The week after the funeral, Ciel’s feet were up on the living room low table, because of course they were, and his near bare ass was digging into the very middle of the sofa, because of course it was, and he was quietly chewing on Sebastian’s last slice of tiramisu, because of course, _of course_.

But what infuriated Sebastian the most was the way Ciel seemed either completely unaware or unfazed by the way his cotton shorts had risen up to bury deep into his thigh fangs, or the way his wide collar shirt fell so low on one shoulder that a pink nub just barely peeked from behind the fabric.

Sebastian could _hear_ Vincent’s smug smile from the afterlife. From Hell, probably.

 _He’s a handful, that one_ , Vincent had said. _Promiscuous_.

Sebastian thought he had meant that Ciel read Lovecraft too early, or something.

 _He makes everyone around him uncomfortable on purpose_ , Vincent had grinned like it was some inner joke of his.

 _A joke_. That, it was. Sebastian’s hand curled into a fist.

 _He gets whatever he wants, such a naughty kid_.

Right. _Right_.

Sebastian wondered how far along the cleft of that high school ass Vincent’s hands traveled for him to talk in riddles about the fact that his son was a damn whore.

Hell, Ciel probably dressed like that _because_ Vincent allowed him to.

Sebastian thought ill of the dead. Wished worse.

Ciel’s eyes found his own, big blue jewels that made him look even younger somehow, and made Sebastian feel filthy.

“That’s mine.” He said, finally. Made the room awkward before the silence did.

Ciel looked down at the last bite of tiramisu. Looked up at his guardian.

Shrugged.

 _Shrugged_.

The fucking…

“I mistook it for mine, I’m sorry, Mr. Michaelis.”

And there it was, the Vincent in everything Ciel did, the absolute nerve to have the face of a liar and the words of an angel.

...And then to turn to sit on his side with legs tucked under him as if it didn’t make his shorts rise higher.

What was he _thinking_?

Ciel took the last bite, sparing a glance at Sebastian as he wiped the crumbs with his thumb and licked it clean. Sucked on it.

He sat the plate down on the table. Rose the volume of the TV.

It was some fucking children’s movie.

Sebastian was furious.

How long was long enough for it to be acceptable to hit your newly acquired trauma child?

Sebastian believed firmly in spanking, but he wondered what would happen to _him_ if he spanked the ass of a thirteen year old boy wearing women’s booty shorts and knee high socks.

“Just ask next time, fuck’s sake.”

Ciel didn’t answer. But Sebastian didn’t expect him to.

 _Healing, coping, trauma_ , he kept repeating these words like they made it all better. Maybe Vincent dying _was_ good. Maybe Ciel would start wearing normal fucking clothes now.

...

_Vincent brought the boys over frequently._

_Sebastian, a grown man with no kids and only a few stray cats to speak of, always had to put away his liquor, his cigarettes, his porn, and everything in between, because prim and proper family man_ Vincent _was visiting with two tiny porcelain versions of himself._

_Little dolls the fucker held like prizes, one in each arm. Every time, without fail._

_Sebastian never really intended to have kids, but apparently being a godfather meant he was going to be involved in this bullshit anyways, so he just stepped away from the door to let them in, no matter how much he wanted to be left bloody well alone._

_Vincent sat pretty, tall and straight on his kitchen aisle, like some preppy bully. One boy on his lap while the other ran off around Sebastian’s house, probably breaking shit._

_“They’re such a handful,” Vincent smiled, holding the boy up with a large hand that covered his whole thigh. “Driving Rachel crazy.”_

_The hand squeezed, made the boy squeal a little._

_Sebastian never really had kids, he didn’t think much of it._

_He took a sip of vodka he was pretending to be Sprite._

_“How is Rachel holding up, though?”_

_“Oh, like crazy. I can’t keep up with her!” A shitty laughter, making it seem like there were bags under his eyes. There weren’t. The man was as rested as always. More, even, if Sebastian was to bet money on it._

_A thumb hooked on the hem of the tiny shorts that barely covered the kid’s thigh. Just stayed there, unmoving. A single finger, laid like a promise of something more._

_Sebastian didn’t have kids. He didn’t look._

_“Is she back to work, though, or still trying to milk some more leave?”_

_“She was back to work the month after, fucking nuts. I’m the one with leave left, now, watching them until they get through preschool.”_

_There was something about the way Vincent said it that made Sebastian uneasy._

_The small boy looked up at his dad. Bright blue pools of a world shattering innocence._

_Vincent gave him a peck on the lips._

_It lingered._

_Sebastian didn’t have kids. Didn’t intend to. He didn’t know the limits to which touching a kid was acceptable, especially your own. Foreign concepts, really._

_But there was something about the way Vincent’s fingers clasped possessively around milky thighs; something about the way innocent pecks lingered on tiny, baby lips…_

_It made Sebastian take the rest of the vodka in a single swig._

_“I got some candy for the brats. Suit yourself.”_

_He gestured to the bowl behind Vincent’s prim and proper ass. Vincent looked back and grinned._

_“Thanks! Hey, baby! Honey, come here!”_

Baby _._ Honey _. Sebastian wanted to pour himself something stronger. Bloody hand sanitizer, maybe._

_The small one came zooming down the kitchen like a puppy. Vincent was already unwrapping two of the candies._

_“Open up.”_

_The boy did. Vincent’s finger pressed the candy in the back of the kid’s tongue, so far back Sebastian couldn’t see it. Vincent then did the same to the boy on his lap. This time Sebastian saw how far he pushed, how wide the boy spread his lips, eyes trained on his father’s, like he’d done this before a million times, like there was a right way to do it. The baby mouth closed around the thick finger. It slipped out wet._

_Sebastian’s childhood best friend and secret lover stroked his toddler’s cheek slowly with a careful, possessive thumb, in a way Sebastian had never, ever been stroked. Not once._

_“You’re gonna get them used to being touched weird like that.”_

_The words came tumbling out before he thought them through, and Sebastian immediately chastised himself._

_He didn’t have kids, he didn’t know… this could just be normal, weird father-son shit, some parental bonding guide Vincent read somewhere, he didn’t know…_

_“You think so?”_

_Vincent’s words were shocked. But it was calculated,_ trained _shock._

_There was a look in the man’s eyes, something akin to hope. It made Sebastian’s stomach churn with thick nausea. A sickness that settled in his gut like a fucking tapeworm._

_Sebastian desperately suckled on the last two or three drops of vodka that swirled lukewarm and strong in the bottom of his glass._

_He bloody well fucking needed it._

* * *

After a month or so, Ciel seemed to be getting back to some type of _normal_ , and so was Sebastian. Sort of.

Ciel was doing just as well in school as he apparently had been before. He made sure Sebastian signed all the needed papers, talked about how Mr. Grey sucked and how Mr. Doyle’s class was the only good one. He did all his homework, took his long showers with loud music in the bathroom, went out with friends, _talked_. But no matter how normal Ciel’s life was, Sebastian’s life was an eternal mess even after all the Will bullshit was mostly done…

There wasn’t really a _normal_ with Ciel around.

Sebastian wondered if there was something about hormones or DNA that made it hard to see your own offspring in a sexual way, wondered if he was just being creepy and Ciel was actually, in fact, a normal bloody kid. Were all the boys wearing knee high lace socks? Was it normal for high schoolers to wear crop tops? To always have a spare pink lollipop to wrap their lips around? Was Sebastian just a bloody pervert?

Maybe it was some shitty puberty thing. There was only _so much_ Vincent could’ve… convinced Ciel that was “normal” without Rachel intervening…

Right?

No.

Sebastian knew he was just trying to comfort himself. He knew this wasn’t fucking _normal_.

Ciel sat on the kitchen aisle as Sebastian whipped cream for another overly elaborate dessert. Because _that_ was coping now. Baking.

Milky legs swung on the counter beside Sebastian as he worked. There was a peek of hip bone and belly button on his peripheral vision.

“What are you making right now, Mr. Michaelis?”

“I’m mixing the icing, the cake is still cooling.”

“Can I try?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sebastian said absentmindedly, because of course he could try, it was just about ready, and Sebastian didn’t need half of the thing anyways.

He watched as Ciel leaned over slowly, tucking hair behind his pierced little flushed ears, dipped a finger in the still mixing buttercream where the blades didn’t touch, and then brought it to his mouth.

Ciel’s bright blue eyes were trained on Sebastian’s as his mouth opened, the finger slowly dug into the back of his glistening tongue, leaving a trail of white cream on pink flesh. His lips closed around the finger. And when he pulled, slowly, deliberately, it came out wet.

Ciel wiped the spit on the shorts that dug into his thigh fangs. There was an amused curl to his lips. Barely there, but Sebastian noticed.

“Tastes nice.”

Sebastian hummed in agreement, throat tight. Pants tighter.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead, rolled up his sleeves.

Creamy porcelain legs kept swinging beside him as Ciel pulled out his phone in silence.

Sebastian ended up over beating the bloody icing twice.

* * *

_It was the way the children dressed that made Sebastian frown._

_They were still much too young, he guessed, to wear shorts that small, or whatever girl’s wide collar shirts Vincent was shoving them in before bringing them over for a sleepover at Sebastian’s._

_Their pyjamas were small, drawstrings hanging loose, glittery sequins on their chests spelling words._

Daddy’s Baby.

_Sebastian took a swig of his whiskey._

_“Are you gonna watch my boys while drunk?” Vincent asked, amused. There was a tone in his voice that made bile rise in Sebastian’s throat. A suggestion of something dirty. Flirty._

_“I’ve got a much higher tolerance than you, Vince. It’s just one glass.”_

_Vincent chuckled._

_Then he left Sebastian alone with two little boys dressed like promiscuous high school girls._

_They insisted on sleeping in Sebastian’s bed._

_He didn’t let them._

_… At least the first time._

* * *

When the last boxes of half burnt heirlooms were finally taken from Vincent’s mansion, it was an honest relief. Sebastian felt like a sneaky teenager as he shoved the paper bagged Smirnoff in his bag pocket to pick up the cardboard boxes. A few photo albums, some singed decor, a handful of Ciel’s clothes (Sebastian had bought enough new ones, but he figured the kid might wanna look through these anyway), and Vincent’s ring.

This one, Sebastian put in his pocket.

He had taken up drinking again. An ugly habit, but it was hard to stop, what with… everything. With Ciel. He chugged down the rest of the drink and tucked the empty bottle in some singed corner rather than bringing it back to the car. It was bad enough that Ciel saw him taking it into the mansion.

The boy waited patiently, _feet on the bloody dashboard_ , picking at his nails. Sebastian insisted he stayed behind, maybe because he didn’t want Ciel to go through the pain all over again, or maybe because he didn’t want Ciel to watch Sebastian sifting through garbage to pull out Vincent’s mementos and shove them in his pocket.

He wasn’t proud of it.

He wasn’t proud of _any of this_.

Sebastian shoved the boxes in the trunk and sat in the passenger seat. Took a deep death, then turned to the boy who scrolled endlessly through his phone.

“You okay?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you need to talk?”

“Nope.”

“...Alright. Well, I found some of your old clothes. You might wanna look through them.”

“I like the clothes you bought me, though.”

Ciel was wearing yet another bloody crop top, some low rise shorts, and baby pink knee-highs that he begged for until Sebastian relented just so some overly suspicious woman wouldn’t call the cops on him for _being_ in the girl’s underwear aisle. With a little boy. _Dressed like that_.

So of course the statement made Sebastian clench his jaw and grip the wheel a little too tightly.

It wasn’t like those clothes were new, Ciel had had plenty of them growing up, but it felt dirty for Sebastian to buy them himself, and it felt _dirtier_ that it was pretty much all the boy wanted to wear. At least with Vincent he used to wear pants and proper shirts, sometimes. _Sometimes_.

The shorts dug into the fat of Ciel’s thighs, Sebastian didn’t look.

“Okay. Well. Look through them anyway.”

“You don’t think I look good in these?”

It was a trap.

“I think you look good in them, yes, Ciel…” Sebastian sighed. And fell for it.

Ciel’s index curled under the fabric of the tiny shorts, stuck tight between denim and skin that gently bunched around the finger, squeezed, soft, pearly.

“This,” Sebastian reached over in some stupid defiance that came with booze and the heat in his groin that seemed just relentless these days, hooked his own finger under the tiny strip of denim, and pulled hard enough to make Ciel squeal. “Might be too short though. I shouldn’t have gotten that for you.”

Ciel’s hands, accursed little baby claws, gently laid on his hand, but what stopped him from moving away was the eyes piercing his own.

Uncomfortably, unreasonably close.

“You always stare, though.”

Sebastian swallowed hard.

It always felt like everything was some battle with Ciel. Can’t pull away first, can’t relent first, can’t look away first, or it would be a defeat.

 _Defeat_ really only meant Ciel would have some shit eating grin on his face, but Sebastian really hated that grin. He hated losing to a child, hated showing his cards, letting his emotions get the best of him, and then watching Ciel look like the cat that got the cream.

There was something about letting this whore win _anything_ …

“I stare,” Sebastian hooked another couple fingers under the little denim short legs, pulled harder. “Because of how bloody _tiny_ it is. You’re gonna flaunt shit you don’t wanna show to people you don’t want seeing.”

“Daddy always said I could wear whatever I wanted.”

“Of course _daddy_ fucking said that.”

He didn’t want to do this here. Didn’t want to mock Vincent in a parked car in front of his burned down home, groping at his kid’s clothes, calling him a slut, watching his grin widen.

Sebastian didn’t want to do this here. But he was half drunk on cheap vodka, and half drunk on Vincent’s kid.

“You want me to take them off, Mr. Michaelis?”

Ciel’s voice was a tiny little thing, a loud whisper that bounced off the tinted windows, reminded Sebastian of how empty that neighborhood was, of how there would be no one walking by for a long time.

About how he scarcely cared if people even walked by.

Sebastian jerked his hand away like Ciel’s pale skin had burned him. He straightened up to take a breath, looking down on the little doll wearing pretty clothes and lip gloss, watching that shitty smile, wishing he could wipe it off somehow. _Somehow_. Didn’t matter much at all, just wanted to busy that pink little mouth with something _else_.

He turned on the ignition and may have pressed on the pedal a little bit too harshly at first.

He enjoyed watching Ciel bounce off his seat and _squeal_.

Sebastian drove home, refusing to stare at the creamy legs stretched out in his peripheral, wondering if things would be easier for him if Ciel was still showing a semblance of mourning, of depression, _something_. Something to justify the damn flirting as some psychological damage, some trauma coping mechanism.

Something that wasn’t just filth.

* * *

_Vincent sometimes stayed over with the boys._

_It was fine by Sebastian. It meant sometimes he got to sleep with his lover, even if it meant his lover’s children were occupying the room next door._

_So he’d arrive, in his stupid matching pyjamas with his stupid matching little boys, a big, bright smile on each face, like a cheesy Christmas card._

_And then they’d barge in, put on movies on his TV, raid his fridge, play with his expensive living room decor, and then the boys would promptly fall asleep in his guest room._

_“They’re a handful.” Sebastian muttered, wincing at the mess he’d undoubtedly have to clean up by himself._

_“I don’t know what I’d do without you and Rachel, honestly…” Vincent chuckled, acting like he did much at all, when Sebastian knew he and Rachel were raising the boys, while Vincent was just reaping the rewards._

_Whatever the hell those were._

_“Get us a drink while I tuck them in proper.” Vincent said. Laid a filthy kiss on Sebastian’s lips, and waved him off._

Waved him off _, like some servant._

_Sebastian obeyed._

_His kitchen was a mess of popcorn and candy wrappers, because Vincent didn’t know the first thing about feeding children, even after having them for almost a decade. Sebastian’s home baked bread was snacked on, at the very least._

_He sighed heavily, and picked out a Meursault. He was the kind of man who bought expensive wine and waited until the man he was in love with left his wife for the night. But brought his children._

_Sebastian took the wine and glasses to the living room, and then headed up the stairs, because he wanted to check in on Vincent putting his babies to sleep, because Sebastian was foolish and sick with love and sometimes liked pretending they were some fucked up version of a family._

_And when he stood beside the bedroom door, listening in, heart in hand, it was easier to pretend._

_The door was ajar, and Vincent was tickling his boys, blowing on their tummies. The giggles and squeals would’ve been cuter if they didn’t tug at his chest so painfully._

_“Daddy, it’s goodnight kiss time.”_

_“Already? Are you sleepy?”_

_“No, but kiss time.” The little hands grabbed at air. Vincent chuckled._

_“How about you do it with Ciel first tonight?”_

_The twins faced each other, flushed. Sebastian watched._

_Watched as they shuffled close, as their baby lips touched and their little heads turned, as the silence was replaced with the wet whines of filthy kissing._

_Watched as Vincent leaned back on the bed and sighed, like he was appraising some beautiful art piece. His very own Monalisa._

_Little hands held hair and clothing softly, and it went on for long enough that Sebastian felt dirty himself._

_“You’re such good boys…” Vincent said, and it sounded wrong. Too breathy, too soft._

_When they finally pulled apart, there was a trail of spit between their pink heaving lips._

_They looked up at Vincent expectantly. Hopeful._

_Vincent leaned in, held a pair of cheeks in his cruel hands, and tilted the boy’s head to kiss wet between baby lips._

_It was gentle, almost loving. The other kid watched on, excited, cupping between his legs, big bright eyes shimmering under the moonlight seeping through the window._

_Vincent kissed until the boy was soft, whiny, little hands grabbing and pulling at his daddy’s matching pyjamas, spit rolling down his chin, thick eyelashes fluttering. The man’s hand slid down and under the little long sleeve top, moved over the soft tummy, around to the back, creeped from under the collar to grab at wispy baby hair, and the kid_ whimpered _while the other boy pulled at Vincent’s sleeve, soft little hiccupy breaths._

_“My turn, daddy, do me now…”_

_Sebastian turned around and headed down the stairs, silently._

_He guzzled down a third of the vodka bottled in the fridge, then put it back with some difficulty. Wobbled to the living room and sat down, waiting for Vincent to finish tucking in his kids._

_Mixing alcohol tended to give him horrible hangovers._

_But it tended to make him forget things, too._


	2. Second: Waterford Teapot

Peak Summer came only two months after the funeral. Things got a lot worse, a lot sweatier, _shorter_. More transparent. Silken.

Pink. Flushed. Glistening.

It was already hard before, but Ciel never intended to make things easier, not by a long shot.

Sebastian needed to get _laid_.

And Ciel needed to stop trying to sleep in his bed.

“Absolutely fucking not.” Sebastian said for the millionth time, staring at the boy clutching his pillow by the doorway like he was going to a sleepover. He could barely see the pyjamas under the stuffed pillow, and that was already a problem on its own.

But Ciel wasn’t a young little boy anymore, and he was far too intelligent, manipulative.

And Sebastian was far too weak.

“Please?”

“No.”

Ciel pouted, looked down at his bare feet. He’d been trying every other night since he had moved in, and Sebastian was just about to run out of patience.

There was a voice in his head, though. Something that told him maybe, _maybe_ , this would be good for the kid, maybe some body heat, some physical touch, would help him heal. Maybe that’s all he was seeking. Maybe Vincent slept with them often, and now Ciel had no one.

But _that_ last thought. The idea that Vincent slept with the boys. _That_ always made Sebastian reel back and deny Ciel’s request, because god knows Sebastian was _not_ going to give him whatever the bloody hell Vincent did when they slept together.

Ciel hadn’t moved, and it was getting awkward. And it was pissing him off.

Sebastian put down the book he wasn’t even reading anymore, and shuffled to sit on the corner of the bed, looking at the kid.

“Why do you want to sleep with me so badly?”

He didn’t think about the other question, the underlying meaning of his words.

“I never slept alone, before…” Ciel’s little whisper trailed off, eyes liquid, throat tight.

“You slept with your dad?”

Ciel shook his head. “My brother.”

Well. Sebastian felt like a fucking prick.

“I’m sorry.” Was all he could say.

Ciel was silent for a long moment, toes rubbing against each other as his little head worked.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Michaelis. I’ll stop.”

And turned around.

Sebastian, the moron, the fool, couldn’t just leave it alone. Not when the kid was just lonely.

“Wait…” He breathed in. “We’ve had sleepovers before, right? We can do that again.”

Ciel’s little face brightened up, and for just a second, he looked like the kid he was, and Sebastian felt like the guardian he was supposed to be.

Taking him under his wing, taking care of him, keeping him warm, safe.

Ciel _was_ a child. No matter what Vincent did to him growing up. And Sebastian needed to fucking drill that into his own head. Ciel had lost his family, hadn’t slept alone once in thirteen years, and was suddenly thrown into Sebastian’s care and had to just _deal_. He couldn’t just watch the kid fold tidy into himself, couldn’t encourage that.

Sebastian got back under the covers, shuffling to one side and lifting up the sheets on the other to invite the kid in. Ciel beamed, short of jumped into the bed, and immediately curled up against the man, still clutching tightly to his pillow.

“I’m gonna keep reading, either go to sleep or take the controller to watch whatever.”

“Whatever?” Ciel grinned.

“As long as it’s _appropriately rated_.”

“Ah.” He didn’t even pretend to not be disappointed. It was kinda cute, in a childish way.

Ciel curled up so close to Sebastian the man had to wrap an arm around him to properly hold up his book. He was on page 12 of Hamlet, because if he wanted to win any little knowledge feuds with Ciel, he needed to brush up on his English and history skills. Which was ridiculous, and slightly embarrassing, but Sebastian needn’t admit to anyone but himself why he was picking up high school books again.

He didn’t do much reading that night. If any.

Ciel was watching some children’s movie very intently, there was some laughing and some gasping, and it was almost innocent. His little legs folded up against his pillow, arms wrapped around his knees, and he leaned gently against Sebastian’s side, a compact little bundle of warmth.

Sebastian felt Ciel’s breathing, soft against his ribs, slowly falling into a gentle rhythm that suggested the boy was falling asleep.

It was homely. Dangerously so.

“Go to sleep.” Sebastian cooed, gently stroking the boy’s wispy hair.

“‘M not sleepy…” Ciel yawned.

“Right…”

Sebastian felt like crying a little bit, watching Ciel’s head lolling down here and there, his tired little eyes straining to keep open. Until his cheek finally fell against the man’s chest, and he immediately started drooling all over Sebastian’s shirt.

He sat there for a while, just looking at the boy, taking in the innocence of his sleeping form.

There was something so tragic and so beautiful about a lonely child, seeking comfort in every warm corner they could find. It was painful to watch, yes, but…

Sebastian didn’t mind being that for Ciel. Hell, he should be, it was his duty.

He gently moved the boy to lay him down on the soft bed. Ciel’s head lolled to the side, drool now moving to the pillow beneath him. Sebastian carefully wrestled the pillow from the tight little fists so he could tuck the boy in properly, and watched the skinny little wrists plop beside Ciel’s head.

And then he froze. Because he knew those pyjamas.

_Daddy’s Baby_ , in blue sequins over the chest.

Sebastian sighed. Those were old, and it showed. Showed on the shirt barely covering his ribs, and on the shorts riding low on his waist and hugging half the boy’s ass.

He stared, for a just moment.

At the soft little body laid down before him, heavy with sleep and barely covered. _Daddy’s Baby_. Cursive. Across his chest, blue letters on pink fabric. And the hem ending not far below. And the shorts starting far too low. And the little bulge framed tight by the thin strip of fabric.

Flushed knees, lightly scuffed.

Such a small little body. Pale skin, rosy against the white sheets of his own bed.

Sebastian swallowed hard. And there were things he could find excuses for, with Ciel, things he could blame on the boy’s endless flirting and whatever he thought paternal affection should look like. Whatever he looked for in Sebastian.

But it was late at night, and the world was quiet, the TV a white noise in the distance, and the light from the table lamps shimmering on the pearly skin of the still baby body beneath him. There were things he could blame on Ciel, yes, easily so, because it was indeed the boy’s fault half the time, but the way he was looking at the kid now, the way his pants felt tighter and his skin felt warmer at the mere _sight_ of this little sleeping wench.

That was on him.

Sebastian heard the rhythmic breathing for a while as his eyes gorged, shamelessly this time, because there wasn’t a soul to blame him. Not in the sanctuary of his bedroom. Not in the intimate folds of his sheets. No one to shun his eyes as they ran down the crevices of Ciel’s tight little body, the soft curve of his waist, the pale skin stretched over ribs as his chest rose softly with every breath.

He set down the pillow beside him, and then moved his hand, slowly, to cup his own swell.

Squeezed softly, eyes on those flushed little cheeks, those parted pink lips.

Sebastian’s other hand moved, and he carefully slid a finger under the thin fabric of the boy’s top, and pulled it up. He stared at the bare chest, the rosy nipples, hardened under the friction of fabric and the kiss of cool air.

He wanted to taste them, take the soft little nubs with his wet lips and suckle on them, watch Ciel squirm, moan. Maybe bite down, hear him squeal.

The swell in his sweatpants twitched under his hand.

There were things he could blame on Ciel, and maybe this was one of them.

This soft little body, splayed helplessly beneath him, wearing tiny strips of fabric to cover the barest of skin. Maybe that was Ciel’s latest plan, after all, maybe he _wanted_ Sebastian to dip his fingers into this tight little honey pot, wide open, sweet, glistening. And then lick them clean.

Maybe he could blame it on the kid.

Sebastian found himself tapping his finger against his own erection like he was lost in thought, the absolute moron.

He took a deep breath.

Turned off the lamp on his bedside table.

And turned around to sleep, as far away from the boy as he could.

Sebastian had thought he could handle it.

It was fine, he had told himself, if he had to endure this for 5 years.

Five years of teenage ass bending over the sink to drink from the tap, of lollipop sucking on the way back from school. Five years of fanning loose girl’s shirts over pink, sweaty chest, and of occasional underdressed sleepovers. Five years of…

_This_. Just _all this_.

Five years of _Daddy’s Boy_ , blue on pink.

He could handle it. He’s handled not punching entitled women on the line of Starbucks, not looking up high school skirts, clicking away from suspiciously young looking sex workers’ pages.

He could handle his best friend’s luxury bred slut.

Right?

But his grasp on resilience was wavering, and Sebastian found himself thinking of Ciel’s lips too often for a man who was supposed to be concerned about paying school fees and sticking peanut butter sandwiches in paper bags. The kid started to haunt him as often as his late lover, and Sebastian wasn’t sure if that meant he was getting over Vincent, or if…

He didn’t want to think. Every other night was another minute of staring at Ciel’s sleeping form like a bloody creep, another hard squeeze around his throbbing cock, and Sebastian was losing the careful composure he had been desperately trying to build. He didn’t want to _think_ about how hard every day was getting. Every night.

Another brick off the wall he had been attempting to build between himself and the little boy.

One by one, brick by brick, and Ciel was at arm’s reach, the milky legs, the glossy lips, the rosy cheeks, the bright blue jewels that pierced his eyes and reached into his soul. And it scared Sebastian like nothing else.

He didn’t even pretend composure before making a u-turn the second he walked into the living room. Yoga fucking shorts, lacy fucking crop top, sweat beads rolling down pink skin, nipples digging into near transparent fabric. Wet, shiny, glossy lips.

Watching TV. Laying all wrong across the whole couch. Taking up space. Sweating up the furniture.

Sweating up Sebastian.

“Do you want a cold brew?” Sebastian asked from the kitchen, willing his fingers to work fast and his loose sweatpants to behave.

“With salted cream?”

He heard the long moan of a stretch. Of laying on the same spot for too long. But it was too breathy, and Sebastian felt too hot in the air conditioned kitchen.

“Yeah, sure.”

It was Ciel’s favorite summer drink. Right after a kid’s brand of strawberry boxed juice he was much too old for.

It took 20 minutes to prepare the drink, and Sebastian knew it was enough time to settle the swell in his pants. He breathed in, thought of ugly things and unattractive scenes, like he was a bloody teenager attempting to will away an unwanted erection. Sebastian was too damn old for this bullcrap, nearly two decades now since his hormones had settled, and now this little _wench_ threw his whole life and _body_ in a blender.

But Sebastian was calmer, after 20 minutes, and so were the folds of his pants.

Blue eyes caught him as soon as he stepped into the living room, followed him the whole way to the couch the kid had completely taken over, like he owned it. Sebastian was annoyed.

“Move, I wanna sit, too.”

Ciel quietly sat up, eyes moving to his phone, a ways away from Sebastian’s spot. When the man sat down, Ciel immediately plopped his legs over Sebastian’s. Of course.

He ignored the creamy thighs, the lightly scuffed knees, the way the yoga shorts were moist with sweat on the back. He handed Ciel the drink. The boy propped up on an elbow to hold it without spilling the damn sticky coffee all over himself.

The kid was watching some fake reality TV show that was most definitely not appropriate for a thirteen-year-old, but he said nothing. He had little patience left these days for their little games.

“Did you remember to deliver your English essay?” Sebastian asked, absentmindedly, as he sipped his own drink like it was whiskey. Which was precisely what it was spiked with. He had to survive his days _somehow_.

“Oh, yeah!” Ciel grinned. “Mr. Doyle really liked it. Thank you for helping me.”

It was an essay on Shakespeare. The theme was bland and shallow, as most subjects were in the first few months of high school. Sebastian had merely proofread it, and pointed out mistakes that weren’t there, because in his world there weren’t things such as a teenager’s perfect first draft. Plus, the kid needed his ego stifled, somehow.

“Was it graded?”

“He graded it right in front of me,” Ciel’s slender little finger stirred the creamy coffee, and his face was much too pleased with himself. “He was really, _really_ happy. Said it was one of the best analyses he had gotten from a freshman. I got full marks.” And Ciel propped his wet little finger into his mouth, licked it clean.

“Is that so?” Sebastian tried to find pride in himself. It was easy, but it was also laced with annoyance. “Well, you did a good job. Keep it up.”

“I always do.”

He did. It was infuriating, this perfect little doll.

“I’m gonna start taking afternoon English classes.” Ciel then said.

Sebastian paused. “You’re doing really well, though. Why?”

“I want to. It’s just a couple days a week. I like English, and Mr. Doyle said it was fine.”

“Anyone else taking extra classes?”

Sebastian almost missed the soft curl on the boy’s lip. “Nah. I like having him for myself.”

It sounded wrong. Off. The same way Vincent had sounded like when he would talk about his boys.

“Come home immediately after that, please.” Sebastian said, and it was stern like a parent’s voice.

Ciel’s eyes turned on him with an intensity that chilled the man to the bone.

“Why?”

“I wanna make sure you’re okay. That’s all.”

“Mhm.”

Turquoise pools were back on the TV screen. Lashes fluttering, eyebrows raised just barely.

A long beat of silence followed, the only noise was the shitty reality TV show, and the thumping of Sebastian’s heart.

“Mr. Michaelis?”

“Hm?”

“May I have a friend over tomorrow?”

A change of subject. Ciel talked about his friends often, but inviting them… this was a first. Sebastian wondered if it meant Ciel was doing better, recovering. Or if it was something else, some other game with Sebastian’s composure on the line, because that’s just who Ciel was. A slutty little prick.

“Sure. Do I need to make supper for three?”

“Nah. We’ll order. Thank you, Mr. Michaelis”

Sebastian had an odd feeling.

“You’re welcome.”

It turned out the friend was some older kid with dyed long hair and a jock air about him. He looked honest and polite enough, so Sebastian didn’t think much about it.

Souma, apparently. South Asian accent, tall, dark, and handsome. Senior. The type that squealing girls would gather around. Ciel had talked about him before, about how overwhelming and affectionate he was, about how much he hugged and teased his underclassmen, how everyone liked him.

Sebastian didn’t like him.

But he politely introduced himself back, as Ciel’s guardian. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Souma smiled, shook Sebastian’s hand more eagerly than he would’ve liked, and then was hounded by an underdressed teen taking him to the bedroom. By the hand.

“My bedroom is down on the left, first door on the right.” Ciel instructed in a firm tone, and Souma listened, walked up and turned left in the hallway.

Ciel stopped in the middle of the stairwell. He looked back, faraway piercing blue eyes that made Sebastian hold his breath every time.

“Should I order with my allowance?”

It was a stupid question, and he already knew the answer to it. Ciel’s allowance was much too small nowadays to spend on necessities that Sebastian could easily cover for.

“No, here,” He walked over, pulling out his wallet, and handed the boy a credit card. “Order whatever you want, and don’t worry about me.”

Their fingers brushed as Ciel took the plastic. Eyes lingered heavy on Sebastian’s as he brought the filthy card to gingerly touch his lips. Slow, like some trained motion. Careful, calculated, like everything else Ciel did.

“Thank you, daddy.”

And then Ciel climbed up the rest of the way.

Sebastian felt a violent shiver run down his spine.

A door closed upstairs.

The fucking… _filthy brat_ … Sebastian’s hand gripped the banister to support himself, and he felt like he could shatter it in his fist. Bloody ridiculous, repulsive. Disgusting, really, because he knew, _he knew_ , that this wasn’t Ciel gingerly taking him as a parental figure, it wasn’t Ciel looking up at him from the eyes of a child in need of guidance and stability.

No, it was _Vincent_ , all of this.

All of this.

Bloody Vincent.

Training his boys so _well_ , so carefully, that now Ciel knew how to do the same. The realization hit Sebastian like a damn truck, and he hated himself for taking so long to understand… the kid was _grooming_ him. The little fucker. These weren’t games, they weren’t little one offs with a winner and a loser every time, inconsequential to each other. No, this was all deliberate, calculated, there was a pattern to it, and it was going to result in some bullshit. Damn, in jail, maybe, if he wasn’t careful enough. Ciel in the system. He couldn’t let that shit happen, not to _Vincent’s_ kid, his lover’s baby boy… not _his_ boy.

_Five years_ , he had told himself. Thinking it wasn’t that much, wouldn’t be that bad to hold back.

Two bloody months in and the whore had just destroyed him with a single word.

_Daddy_.

Just like Vincent had trained him.

_Daddy_. With puckered pink lips, with big glassy eyes. Sebastian’s name on the credit card covered by his lanky, baby fingers. Polished, manicured nails.

_Daddy’s Baby_.

This was like every other bloody time. Sebastian would ignore things until it was too late. Close his eyes to what happened right in front of him until it finally affected him. Denial. Ignorance. Wilful and moronic.

Sebastian knew. _Knew_. The shit Vincent did to his kids, the shit he conditioned them to do, to wear, the way he taught them to walk and suck on lollipops, they way they both sat on his lap till age twelve like toddlers, they way they whined pretty and breathy when they wanted something. In public. In neighborhood barbeques. In pool parties. How they pretended to play with other kids but really just hovered around the adults, stuck to Vincent’s legs as he milked a whiskey on the rocks with a proud shitty look on his face. His trophy whores. Trained, groomed.

Slick. Stretched.

He should’ve called child services.

It was too late now. Vincent was _dead_ , and so was his wife and one of his porcelain sluts. The leftovers were Sebastian’s to eat up. Or something.

_Or something_.

Sebastian gritted his teeth, thinking of Vincent’s unwavering smile, the way he always looked like the cat that got the bloody cream when _daddy’s babies_ looked up at him with bright blue eyes.

Should he schedule therapy? Would that help?

There was a filthy corner in Sebastian’s mind that didn’t want anyone else to know, didn’t want any other grown fucker to watch Ciel crossing his milky legs, licking his plush lips, staring down men twice his size with big beady eyes, like a soft little doll.

What if he _did_ cross a line? And then Ciel told some fucking therapist?

Sebastian wasn’t built for jail.

But Ciel? Ciel was built for heavy looks and glossy lips wrapped around thick lollipops.

Vincent had made _sure_ of it.

Sebastian kicked the banister. Refrained from punching a wall. Ciel had a guest, and Sebastian had to act _adult_ , responsible, collected.

Tantrums were reserved for his solitude.

And maybe for Ciel after his friend left.

But the night wasn’t over yet, no matter how much Sebastian wanted it to be over, to take Ciel over his knee and spank that pale ass until it was red and bruised with the shape of his hand.

Even if he wanted, he wouldn’t have. Probably.

But it was fun to fantasize.

Even if the fantasies were a lot less about Ciel being punished, and a lot more about shorts being pulled down to show lacy underwear, glossy lips slack and whiny with every crack of Sebastian’s hand, Ciel’s little prick wet against the man’s thigh.

Sebastian breathed.

He should heat up some food. For supper.

He was hungry.

Not an hour later, before Sebastian even had the time or stomach to eat anything that wasn’t a single apple, the Souma kid ran down the stairs. Sebastian watched him from the living room, taking the delivery, paying with _Sebastian’s_ credit card. Some trashy pizza place nearby that Sebastian had stopped ordering from since management changed. His jaw clenched as he noticed the ruffle on the kid’s hair, the flush on his bronze cheeks. Souma climbed back up the stairs, and the bedroom door closed.

After a bottle of wine and a couple movies he wasn’t even paying attention to, Sebastian figured he could at least take the leftover pizza from the kid before it would stink up the bedroom. He couldn’t have Ciel’s clothes smelling like cheap cheese.

_Ruffled hair, flushed face._

Sebastian just wanted to get the damn pizza, and check on the damn kid, and quell the pathetic burning in his chest, in his throat, behind his eyes.

He did his dishes, slowly. Dried and put them away. Wiped the clean counters. Drank two tall glasses of water. Tomorrow he needed to do groceries, sweep the living room. And what should he pack for Ciel’s lunch? And had he taken out the trash?

And when there was nothing else to distract himself with, it was already nearing midnight, so Sebastian climbed the stairs, willing his fists to loosen, willing the buzz of liquor to soothe his nerves.

And then Sebastian heard a noise.

Muffled, low, and he was still far from the kid’s room.

His fists tightened, jaw clenched. The buzz in his stomach turned sour.

He tiptoed towards the door, holding his breath.

Muffled whimpers. Whispering voices.

_Fucking no_.

The door was ajar, just barely, just enough for him to sneak a look into the room without being seen.

And then he froze, because of course, _of course_ , he couldn’t catch a fucking break, couldn’t have one week--hell, one _day_ without some bullshit from Ciel, who did everything in his power to get to Sebastian.

Even if that involved calling a friend over just to ride his prick with the door open.

It took everything in Sebastian to not barge in and kick the friend out. Pull Ciel by the hair. The goddamn whore. Under Sebastian’s roof, no less. Bouncing his flushed little ass right where Sebastian could see it through the door, lacy g-string pulled aside, wide collared top still on, rolling his hips so slowly the kid under him only shook and cursed.

“Ciel, _fuck_ …” The Souma kid whined, gentle hands on Ciel’s waist.

“Shh,” The little boy whispered, a finger touching his friend’s lips. “You don’t want my daddy to hear, do you?” Ciel’s hips were slow, and his soft little voice was just so _amused_ it made Sebastian’s blood boil. “Daddy would be mad with me, so _hush_ …”

It was a taunt, almost like he knew Sebastian was listening in. And he might as well have known too, the little fucker, like he knew everything else, planned it all carefully.

But Sebastian was peeved by the wrong things. Peeved by the way the other kid held Ciel, by how gentle his hands were, how still he was.

That wasn’t the way to touch Ciel.

Not slow and careful, not shy and trembling.

Ciel was a creature waiting to pounce, to dig his pretty little fingers into skin and tear it open. Ciel wasn’t a delicate little thing, and he definitely didn’t have the time for virginal little pricks who didn’t know where to put their hands.

Sebastian was peeved by the _wrong things_.

But he was still furious with Ciel. The fucking guts, the _guts_ to invite another man over and then ride him right under Sebastian’s roof, like some promiscuous teenage girl.

His fingers twitched, angry, curling into a fist and then spreading open again. A repeated motion. Like he wanted to grab something, squeeze it. Hurt it.

Sebastian moved away before he could make a mistake.

Or several.

The air in his room was cold against the heat of his skin, and his voice was much too loud for a man that should have been keeping a child’s name from his lips in the first place.

* * *

_Sebastian despised Summer._

_Much too hot for clothes that were remotely appropriate or pleasant to wear. And look at._

_That extended to everyone, except bloody Vincent, who wore swim trunks like a Calvin Klein model, which was entirely too unfair._

_Rachel was the only thing between Vincent and the painted faces in neighborhood pool parties. And she did a phenomenal job, too, wearing the skimpiest bikinis she could get her hands on, the trophy wife. Which was much appreciated, as Sebastian showing any discomfort would’ve given away_ feelings _. He couldn’t possibly afford that. Not in public. Not next to Rachel._

_“Vincent, honey,” Rachel short of pushed some white suburbia widow with the sway of her hips, bringing drinks on a platter for all three of them, and the boys. “I got us all some drinks. It’s so_ hot _today.”_

_“As it tends to be, during Summer.” Vincent grinned, amused._

_The disgruntled widow gave Rachel a dirty look as she walked away, giving up on her objective. On Vincent._

_“Rachel, baby, you can’t leave me alone like this,” Vincent complained. “I was about to be eaten alive.”_

_“I should hire Sebastian as your bodyguard, then,” She mocked. But Sebastian froze slightly. “Someone else to protect you from the vultures. Do they not know you’re marri--_ where’s _your wedding ring?”_

_“Left it in the car. It’s gold and diamonds, I don’t wanna buy a new one because it slipped off in the pool or something.”_

_Rachel rolled her eyes. “Right,” She murmured, setting the platter down on the flimsy plastic table and giving Sebastian and Vincent their icy glasses. Bourbon, it seemed. “Trying to tell me you don’t like the attention.”_

_“You’re being absurd,” Vincent smirked, drank his portion in a single gulp, as a shot. Like a drunk. “I only have eyes for the love of my life.”_

_“Oh? And who is that?”_

_Vincent’s grin widened, and his eyes moved away from Rachel, towards the pool filled with squealing children._

_“Ciel, honey, come drink some juice!” He shouted. “Where’s your brother?”_

_The little boy scrambled his way out of the pool, shaking like a wet dog, and walked over to Vincent with a pout. “I’m not Ciel.”_

_“Well, baby boy, then where the fuck_ is _Ciel?”_

_“Language.” It was Sebastian who said it, because Rachel was busy now, on the tip of her manicured toes, looking for the lost kid._

_“He went potty.” The boy said, grabbing the heavy orange juice glass with both hands._

_“You say_ bathroom _now, you’re already ten.” Vincent chastised._

_“He went_ bathroom _.” And the boy sipped, looking up at Vincent. And it was a teasing jab at his dad. Sebastian couldn’t help but chuckle._

_The little boy hopped on Vincent’s lap. Facing him. Little legs wrapped around Vincent’s waist as he suckled on the orange juice. The man just stroked his hair gently._

_And then his hand lowered, resting on the small waist, on the curve of the boy’s backside. Vincent was talking to Rachel._

_“Does he even know where the bathroom is?” He asked. His pinky slowly slid under the wet fabric of the boy’s trunks._

_“There’s like, a hundred bathrooms.”_

_“Ask Angela if she leaves the upper floors open during parties. I’m sure he’s fine, though, it’s just a house party.” His thumb circled to the kid’s waist, and he was holding his son in a tight grip. And the kid was frozen, flushed, his little thighs twitched._

_“Vince, there’s a dozen people we don’t know here. I’ll just go get him.”_

_“He’s ten, he can take care of himself.” Vincent pulled the boy closer, flush against his daddy’s chest, and the little body shivered. And the man’s hand lowered for just a second underneath the fabric, fingers gripping the soft little rump, nails scratching gently as they moved back up the short spine. The boy’s lips were on the glass barely held up by his trembling hands, but they were frozen, jaw slack._

_“He’s_ ten _, Vince.”_

_“He’s_ fine _, Rachel. It’s a party.” His hand slid up the baby ribs, the chest, and his thumb brushed softly against a rosy little nub. The boy let out a soft, choked squeak._

_“I’ll get him.” Sebastian said, and he got up much too quickly, chair falling behind him._

_Rachel and Vincent were silent for a moment, but thankfully they were the only ones to notice his sudden loss of composure._

_“Are you sure?” Rachel frowned._

_“You need to keep the vultures away, don’t you?” Sebastian smiled. “You ought to wear a g-string next time. Tends to do the job by default. Gets you ugly looks, though.”_

_He walked towards the kitchen door as Rachel turned to Vincent with genuine curiosity, “You think I’d look good in it?” To the man who had been cheating on her for fifteen years._

_Ciel was lost, as Sebastian guessed._

_It was a stranger’s house, and children weren’t the best at asking adults for directions, and they were even worse at giving directions themselves. Sebastian found the boy on the second floor, wet and wide eyed._

_“Ciel?”_

_The kid squealed, and turned around to look at Sebastian. And then immediately relaxed. “I need to pee.”_

_“I see.”_

_“Do you know where the bathroom is?”_

_Sebastian didn’t, but he reached out a hand, and felt the little digits grab onto his. “Let’s find it together, hm?”_

_The kid nodded, and he looked much too trusting, much too soft. Sebastian held the little hand like it was made of glass._

_When they found the bathroom, and Ciel was done with his business and washing his hands (though Sebastian dried them), Sebastian took a moment, before taking him back outside to the screaming children, to the deep pool. To Vincent._

_“Ciel, can I ask you something?” He squatted, level with the boy._

_“Yeah.”_

_It stuffed his throat like cotton, and when the words came out, Sebastian could barely hear it through the ringing in his ears._

_“Does daddy Vincent ever…” Sebastian didn’t even know how to articulate the words. The emotions. The tightness on his chest. “Touch you… weird?”_

_He didn’t want to know the answer, but he held the little hand, soft and innocent and trusting, too trusting. Looked over the wet little body, the flushed cheeks, the pale chest, and wondered. Head formulating thoughts he never wanted to voice, or put into words. Images, memories, of the boys, of Vincent. And the blood seemed to run through his veins like thick sludge._

_“Weird?” Ciel was deep in thought. “Daddy touches me. But it’s nice.”_

_Sebastian didn’t know what to make of it. Didn’t really want to make anything of it._

It’s nice _. So it must be alright, must be soft, paternal, caring._

_It was a misunderstanding, it had to be, that thrumming in his veins, the fog in his mind, whenever he saw Vincent with his boys. It had to be just that, a misunderstanding._

_Ciel said it himself._ It’s nice _._

_“Okay,” He said, more to himself than to the kid. “Okay… wanna go back to daddy, now?”_

_Ciel beamed, nodded, clutched Sebastian’s hand. It was another test, something silly, but the boy had beamed at the prospect of seeing his father. So it must be a good sign._

_Right?_

_The tightness in Sebastian’s chest should have eased, and yet it was harder to breathe, now, for some reason._

_For some reason._

_He didn’t have kids. He had to be overthinking. Over-looking. Over-staring._

_Sebastian downed the Bourbon before heading back out with the boy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love how Sebastian is becoming the true embodiment of a modern Frollo. Writing a slut shaming dipship is so much fun


	3. Third: Portmeirion Tea Spoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience!!  
> This chapter is dedicated to the hater who's EXTREMELY FUCKING MAD that I turned off anon comments bc they can't call me slurs anymore. This is for you baby mwah <3

Sebastian was aware of his newly acquired fatherly duties.

Paying for school fees, buying necessities, making sure the kid was safe, making sure the kid was _sound_.

But he thought-- knew, he _knew_ he had rights that came with those. Knew that if he was caring for the brat’s every need, it meant privacy was of little importance, it meant the kid’s bodily autonomy ended when Sebastian saw fit. That was how he was raised, after all.

Whether Vincent raised his kids the same way or not, it didn’t matter. Vincent raised them all wrong anyways.

An hour or so after Ciel’s friend had left, after Sebastian had his share of morning whiskey (cheap, this time, he didn’t have the heart to get drunk on the good stuff) and after the kid _finally_ finished the longest shower in history, Sebastian opened Ciel’s door without knocking. Short of burst in, really, and he knew he smelled of whiskey, but he couldn’t care less. The kid squeaked in horror, half dressed in a crop top, his bloody lacy panties, and a single knee high sock, and Sebastian’s mouth was watering, but he didn’t want to think about that.

“ _Knock first!_ ” The kid threw the other sock at his guardian, but Sebastian was a statue.

“You fail to realize a very fucking important thing about your current situation, Ciel,” He started, and his voice was low in an enraged sort of calm. “This is my house. You live under my roof. There won’t be knocking on doors, and there _certainly won’t be fucking the first friend you invite over like a bloody whore!_ ”

Ciel was silent, embarrassed. Good.

“Do you have any shame?” Sebastian shook his head. “Do you even think before you do shit like that? What’s your fucking purpose? What’s your goddamn objective here?” Because the door was open, because he called for Sebastian. _Daddy will be mad_ , like he _knew_ the man would see him. His fucking spectacle.

The kid looked down. Played with the sewing of his socks.

Sebastian’s fist met the door hard, and the kid flinched. “ _I asked you a question!_ ”

“I don’t _know! Leave me alone!_ ”

“Of course you don’t know,” Sebastian sneered, and he walked toward the kid. “You’re a bloody thirteen-year-old who likes acting like a grown up, but doesn’t know how to act when things don’t go your way,” His hand clasped around the tiny little wrist and pulled close, so close he could almost kiss the whore and his trembling lips. “I’m not your father, Ciel, I’m not fucking Vincent, and I’m gonna make sure you know that, I’m gonna make sure you know that your filthy little tricks and your shitty acting up won’t work on me…”

Sebastian sat on the kid’s bed, Hello Kitty sheets and a collection of plush toys surrounded by girl’s clothes, and pulled Ciel over his lap, slotted his tummy right over his legs, watched the creamy little legs kick around. Watched the pink lace framed peachy rump propped up like a prize over his knee.

“ _This is child abuse!_ ”

Sebastian chuckled, and it might’ve sounded a tad too sadistic.

“I’m your legal guardian, this is discipline.”

“No, no, _no, daddy, daddy, please_.”

“Oh, _do not_ call me that…”

But his voice showed too much gritting, too much sighing, and the kid noticed.

“ _Daddy,_ please, don’t…” Ciel’s voice was almost a moan, and it made it all so, so much harder, and the whiskey in Sebastian’s stomach sloshed like sewer water. “I’ll make up for it, please…”

“Oh, you’ll make up for it?”

“Yes, daddy, _please…_ ” The kid moved his hand to reach Sebastian’s shirt collar, and that soft little face looked up at the man like he was already inside him. “I’ll make you feel so good, daddy…”

But Sebastian wasn’t _that_ drunk.

 _Close_ , though.

He grabbed the little bird bone wrist and folded it behind the boy’s back, and his other hand descended palm open on that soft little rump with a loud smack. The kid squealed.

“I can’t just let it slide, Ciel,” Sebastian said, pausing with another loud smack on the boy’s ass, followed by another pained squeal. “I can’t just let you disrespect me under my roof and do nothing about it.”

“You’re an _asshole!_ ”

And another, this time lower, on the inner thighs, and the boy sang so pretty every goddamn time that Sebastian tried desperately to blame the heat pooling in his gut on the alcohol, on the adrenaline, anything but what it was.

“You like hitting little boys, huh? You like watching me--”

_Smack._

“You _freak!_ You’re _gross_ , you just like making me cry for you to watch--”

_Smack._

“I _know_ you’re _enjoying_ it… I can _feel_ … I _know_ , you fucking…”

_Smack._

“Please… just, _please…_ I’m sorry, _I’m sorry_ …”

_Smack._

“ _Please, I’ll do anything…_ ”

There was a power to this that Sebastian did _not_ want. Watching the little wench who always seemed so sure of himself brought to snot and tears, to begging and sobbing. All that power, all that authority, gone with a single hand.

And Sebastian loved every second of it.

Every smack was a lousy excuse to touch the kid’s arse, to feel the rosy skin hot under his hand, to break the boy further and further.

He knew his erection was pressing hard against Ciel’s side, and he knew Ciel’s sobbing and pleading was much too rhythmic to be just pain, and oh, _oh_ , the wet press of the hot little prick to Sebastian’s thigh, hard and leaking, twitching against his sweatpants. So very close, all of this. This “punishment”. It was as much of a façade as Vincent’s entire relationship with his kids. The guardianship, the parental role, all of it was just a stepping stone to _this_.

To bending the kid over and touching him.

Sebastian’s hand stopped flush against Ciel’s rump, and it was hot, and it was velvet against his fingers. So who could blame him when he slowly rubbed it, when he gently squeezed the baby fat with his trembling hand and breathed hard at the vision of the purple and red skin squished between his fingers.

“ _Daddy…_ ” Came the plea, so soft, _begging_. Begging for it, really, begging for touch, harder and deeper, and Sebastian wondered how easy it would be to slide inside, to just pull the thin strip of lace aside and finally feel the soft wet insides of Vincent’s pedigree whore wrapping around his--

Sebastian took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

He counted to ten, he pushed the kid away, he stood up, shaking, _shaking_ with anger, with want, with _hate_ , staring down at the sweaty mess of Ciel sprawled on the bed looking fucked out and _aching_ for more…

“Don’t do that crap again or next time will be _much_ worse, you fucking whore.”

When the door closed behind him, a wall between the writhing sweaty little body and Sebastian’s shaky hands, he thought he was going to collapse against it.

He dragged himself to the kitchen instead.

Was this how Vincent felt? Sebastian had never looked at a kid this way before, never felt anything this strong for even a man other than Vincent. He had never looked at the boys like that, either, their baby fat thighs and round cheeks were nothing but adorable, something worth protecting. He saw the damn kids naked not two months before the fire, too, changed in the same bathroom as them for a goddamn pool party…

So _why the fuck now?_

Sebastian stared at the clear liquid he shouldn’t have poured in his glass, took a sip he shouldn’t have taken, and watched the arms of the wall clock blur.

The kid was probably humping his pillows, calling for _daddy daddy_ with that wretched little voice, crying even, maybe.

Ciel cried sometimes, with the doors closed, thinking Sebastian couldn’t hear.

Sebastian wondered how the boy’s face had looked like when he was being spanked.

He poured himself another glass.

There had been many times Sebastian wondered if things were going to settle into a new normal. Times when he had thought that maybe, just maybe, he could get used to this mess, because there were things he could overlook as long as school was fine, as long as Ciel seemed healthy, happy, and seemed to have his own little _normal_.

Things he could ignore. The wrong smiles, the wrong looks, the _wrong_ way he rubbed his little knee against Sebastian’s on the couch as they watched some shitty TV show during supper. The wrong way Ciel had sleepovers with his friends. Right under Sebastian’s roof.

Things he could’ve ignored until it was late at night and his bedroom door was locked, until he had lotion in his hands and Ciel’s name in his lips. Gasped and groaned. Or until he held the tent in his pants with shaky fingers and Ciel’s sprawled little sleeping body in his hungry eyes. It would’ve been fine if it was just _this_ , he could’ve been fine, _they_ could’ve been fine.

Sebastian was mistaken, of course.

Ciel had made sure of that.

Hell, _Sebastian_ had made sure of that, after this mess.

He could blame it all on Ciel, but sobriety usually came on his third or so glass of spirit, and the truth of it all was that the boy had traded one monster for another. And Sebastian hadn’t even been aware of his own claws and fangs until he saw them printed on Ciel’s porcelain white skin.

Things were never going to get any easier for him, ever, because the second he got involved with Vincent, Sebastian made himself a victim of the man’s shenanigans. In life, and after death, too. Inherited his curses.

Because Vincent cursed everything he touched. Sebastian. Rachel. The boys.

Except now there were only two victims left to curse, the other two were resting peacefully a world away from Vincent’s Hell.

Oh, Vincent’s Hell. The heat of his body and the touch of his hands. _Oh_ , finding out curses and aches after the demise of a loved one.

Sebastian could spit on the man’s grave all he wanted, but it wouldn’t feel the same as a punch, as a good full belly yell, as throwing glasses and plates, as calling the bloody cops on him and watching him be taken away from his prized little toys.

Wouldn’t feel the same as finally having a reason to leave him, rather than allowing him to die as Sebastian’s first and truest love, ensuring that role stayed _his_ for all eternity.

Sebastian could never be released from Vincent’s grasp on his heart, not now that rigor mortis has settled in, cemented it there.

He passed out on the couch that night. The bedroom felt much too haunted.

* * *

There was a week of respite, but it barely gave him any rest at all.

Ciel tried so very hard to pretend things were as they were before. And to him? They might as well have been. God knows what he expected of Sebastian, and his stupid drunk self might have given the kid just that, so Ciel flirting and bending over wasn’t even stressful anymore, it was just _him_. There was no Ciel before and after that day, not in the same way there was a Sebastian before and after that day.

 _I’m not fuckng Vincent, and I’m gonna make sure you know that._ What a joke.

It was commonplace now, naked legs over Sebastian’s on the couch, the _daddy, daddy_ despite Sebastian constantly asking him to stop, the sleeping together.

“Do you need help with your homework?” Sebastian would ask sometimes, trying to _parent_ , watching the boy cautiously from the doorframe as he shoved backpack and sweater off.

Watching the bruises peeking from under the tiny shorts getting fainter every day, but still there. A reminder of losing control, of letting himself _want_.

Sometimes Ciel would say _yes_ , the history and biology stuff, which seemed hard to grasp and memorize. Most of the time they’d watch a documentary together about the subject, then match what they learned to the school textbook.

Ciel ran cold, he could handle the last chill of Spring with barely any clothes to cover his pale skin, but Sebastian ran hot, and the air conditioner was always much cooler, especially as Summer crept up. Ciel wasn’t used to it, and Sebastian could see it, too. Not feel, no, he was used to the chill, made it cold enough so sweatpants and a shirt were comfortable to wear, because the kid tended to stare too much if he wore anything mildly revealing. No, he _saw_ it, when the boy was cuddling up to him on the couch, naked legs curled against his little body, and the hairs standing up on end. Sebastian would rub Ciel’s legs, gently, and it was easy in these moments. It didn’t make him shake, didn’t heat him up.

“You cold?”

“ _You_ leave the aircon too cold…”

“It’s getting hotter, I prefer the cold. Just put some pants on.”

Ciel blew raspberries at him, and didn’t move. Just curled up closer to Sebastian, that soft little body, shaking every so slightly as big blue eyes were stuck to the TV, so very dedicated to learning about taxonomy ranks.

Some days, it was harder to help with Ciel’s homework after watching documentaries together. Sebastian tended to look, _stare_ even. Not in a filthy way, because when Ciel wasn’t _purposefully_ trying to jailbait every goddamn adult in a mile radius, he was just a kid. Looked like one, talked like one, acted like one. Curled up to Sebastian on the couch because he wanted affection, love, warmth, not the dirty kind of love Vincent taught him to seek, but the love a young boy often sought. Some sort of stability when everything else was so uncertain and so scary.

So Sebastian would look away from the TV, and down at the little boy leaning warm and soft against him, and just took in those moments. They felt important, like looking away meant missing something crucial he could never get back.

And the little kid shook, rubbing his own legs to stave off the chills, not concerned about looking attractive, about having his legs sprawled over Sebastian’s, about looking up at his guardian from thick eyelashes with pouty glossy lips.

Not in _these_ moments. These moments were respite.

Sebastian pulled the sweater that had been left forgotten on the couch arm, black and thick and only there as a remnant of the lovely Winter chills he already missed.

“Here, raise your arms.”

Ciel frowned. “I don’t need it, I’m fine.”

“You’re cold, just raise your damn arms.”

And so the kid did, crop top so high on his little torso that Sebastian could see the soft pink nubs peeking from under it. He stuffed Ciel into his sweater, watching as the kid drowned in black fabric, hands halfway up the sleeves and collar hanging from his shoulder.

Sebastian chortled, and Ciel smacked him with a loose sleeve.

“You’re the one who put me in it! It’s so big, it’s not cute at all!”

“It’s cute,” The man ruffled Ciel’s hair. “You look like a baby.”

“ _Eugh!_ ”

But they were both lying, and Sebastian knew it.

Ciel didn’t complain anymore, he pulled the sweater over his bent knees, and pulled the collar over his nose, breathing deep, and Sebastian knew the kid was taking in his scent, feeling comforted by the warmth of Sebastian’s presence, his clothing, his smell.

And Sebastian didn’t think Ciel looked childish. The opposite, actually, and it disgusted him to think about it.

Ciel looked like Vincent. Pulling on Sebastian’s clothes and swimming in them, looking like he belonged to Sebastian, like his shirts, button ups, sweaters, hoodies, were some sort of collar to show the whole world who had touched him the night before, who he had been in bed with.

Sebastian gently buried his nose in Ciel’s hair as the boy focused on the TV. He smelled of strawberries and little boy sweat.

He smelled nothing like Vincent.

It took a week for the bruises to fade, and Sebastian just let it all pass by in a daze. A half drunken one. It was like induced dissociation, if there was such a thing, and it might have been the worst possible coping mechanism, but it was coping nonetheless. He was half drunk in peaceful moments, in curling up against Ciel, smelling his shampoo, and dressing him in oversized sweaters every chance he got.

And half drunk in cheap vodka when the kid went back to flirting with him.

The day Ciel came back from school with a black eye and bleeding elbows, Sebastian wondered very, very softly in his mind, as he watched the blood trickling down those baby elbows, as he watched the kid softly limping down the hallway, what he had done to God to deserve all the bullshit constantly thrown at him.

“What,” He started, loud. Ciel froze. “The fuck, Ciel.”

The boy slowly turned. “I’m fine.”

“Get the fuck down here.”

“No.”

Sebastian took a deep breath. He was doing that often these days.

“ _Please_.” He demanded in an angry hiss.

Ciel’s bruised up face scrunched up in annoyance.

“Oh, I’m _sorry_ ,” Sebastian started, exasperated. “Am I bothering you? For worrying? Get the fuck _down_ here. What happened?”

Ciel dropped the pink backpack in the middle of the hallway and stomped over. Slowly. Like a whiny brat.

“Nothing.”

“That’s a black eye, I know that’s a black eye, also you’re _bleeding_. I’m not an idiot. Who did this?”

Sebastian leaned over to gently touch the stupid bruise on the kid’s face. Ciel hissed. Sebastian wanted to dig his thumb in it. “ _Answer me_.”

“No one!”

He dug his thumb in it.

“ _Oh my god_!” Ciel grunted, exasperated. “I can _deal_ with it!”

“You can’t deal with shit. You’re thirteen and can’t boil an egg, you can't deal with _shit_. _Who did this?_ ” Ciel tried to turn away, but Sebastian grabbed his wrist and _tugged_. A little too hard, but his patience was wearing off. “I said, _who did this?_ ”

Ciel was wearing lip gloss, now smudged across his cheek. His lips glimmered when he sneered.

“I’ll tell you _why_ , not _who_.”

“What does it fucking matter why? I’m gonna tell your Principal _who_ , this isn’t okay. This isn’t kid banter, they beat your shit in. _Look_ at you!”

“Then no.”

Sebastian took another deep, long breath. Barely stopped himself from adding to the collection of bruises. Again.

“Fine.”

Ciel looked up at the ceiling, picking at his fingers behind his back.

“Some boys hit me because they said I’m a whore.”

“You’re-- a _what_?”

Ciel was examining his polished nails very attentively.

“They called me a _whore_. I already said it. Been getting called that a lot lately…”

Sebastian pinched his temples. Hard. Let the little tease slide. _Well, aren’t you one?_ , he didn’t ask, and clenched his jaw. Sebastian already knew the answer.

He didn’t wanna deal with this, with kids beating each other up over clothes. He didn’t wanna deal with the possibility that it was more than just clothes.

“Christ. Fine, come sit on the couch. I’m gonna get a first aid kit. _Don’t_ run into your bedroom.”

Ciel thankfully obeyed.

A whore. _A whore_. Did kids that age even know what that meant? Sebastian had no clue. Thirteen was a long time ago, and the older he got, the more scrambled childhood became. Plus phones, and the internet, and fucking _Ciel_ with his dumb lace panties and his dumb crop tops and his dumb low rise shorts. Of course he’d get bullied, harassed, hit, _or worse_.

Sebastian didn’t want to think about _worse_ , about what entitled little pubescent boys were doing to Ciel after class, he just took the first aid kit and walked to the living room in silence.

Ciel was a little broken doll on the couch. Sitting pretty in the middle cushion, back straight, swinging legs. Bruised up in blossoms.

“Show me where you’re bleeding.”

It was mechanical, because it had to be.

Because it involved touching Ciel, and they weren’t studying together right now.

He sat beside the boy and began cleaning.

Sebastian didn’t think about how soft Ciel’s skin was on his fingertips as he held the inside of his thigh to clean the blood, or about how Ciel’s tiny whimpers and whines cut through the silence of the room like butter every time Sebastian rubbed wet cotton on the wounds, or about how close, _how close_ , he was to the boy, how he smelled like little girl’s fruity perfume, how Ciel leaned against Sebastian’s side, knees touching, little body shaking with every pained whimper…

He breathed very, very slowly. Watched Ciel’s thighs rubbing against each other, the shorts digging into the thin layer of fat under pearly skin, watched from the corner of his vision as Ciel’s eyes turned to him, big and bright.

Sebastian only had children’s band-aids from when Ciel was really young, colorful little things with stars and hearts and polka dot patterns. He gently placed them on the handful of small cuts, over his knees, on his elbows.

He was purposefully avoiding Ciel’s face, but at some point he had to clean it. Sebastian held baby cheeks and turned the boy’s face toward him. Ciel turned his whole body instead, knees on the couch, facing Sebastian with those dangerous eyes.

“So they hit you because you’re a ‘whore’?” Sebastian broke the silence, gently rubbing the purple and green around the eyes, on the cheeks, the blood off the glossy lips that parted just slightly to let him work.

“Mhm.”

“Is it because of how you dress?”

Ciel shrugged.

“Or was it something you _did_?”

He shrugged again. Sebastian needed some damn clue.

“ _Please_ tell me.”

Ciel thought for a moment, and then he looked up at Sebastian. The wrong kind of look. _Bad_.

“They called me a whore. Said I was sucking off the teacher for good grades.”

Sebastian’s hand faltered.

“Well, were you?” And he hated that he was prepared to learn it was the truth.

“Well… no. But they didn’t believe me.”

Sebastian had been cleaning the same bruise for a long time now.

“And? How did it devolve into _this_?”

“I told them to eat me.”

Ciel’s smile looked way too pretty like that, framed by ugly shades of purple, red, and green.

“I take it they then attempted to take you up on that offer?”

“Not exactly…”

Sebastian pinched the little bruised cheek, but Ciel’s pained expression was much too dangerous from up close. Much too close to something else, noises much too similar to that day he was bent over the man’s knees.

“Speak clearly, what happened?”

“They wanted me to suck them off…” Ciel looked more amused than anything.

“Weren’t they calling you a whore just before? How does that make sense?”

Little hands gently leaned against Sebastian’s thigh. A leverage, to keep Ciel upright, to keep him steady, and the way it softly squeezed at him… Sebastian rubbed the same three bruises over and over, watching the little body squirm, watching the baby lips quiver, grin, glimmer.

“They wanted to test, to know if I knew how to do it. Wanted to know firsthand what was doing it to the teachers…”

Sebastian swallowed dry.

“Did you do it?”

“No. That’s why they beat me up.”

“But do you know how to?” He asked, knowing it was the wrong question. In the wrong tone. At the wrong time.

The world was much too quiet. Ciel’s little hands much too close to the tight folds of his lap.

“Mh-hmm.” Ciel bit down on his bottom lip.

Sebastian felt fingers grazing his growing swell. Just barely, just enough to make him pull a sharp breath.

His vision was blurring, and yet Ciel’s gently glittered lips were so clear. So close.

Ciel slowly moved, eyes still on Sebastian, locking him in place along with those accursed little hands, and straddled the man’s lap.

Sebastian didn’t dare move, didn’t dare _breathe_ , as the creamy little thighs tightened around his waist, as the long pale arms wrapped around his neck, as cut off denim gently and deliberately rubbed against his erection.

Ciel tilted his head, bright blue eyes staring deep into Sebastian’s soul, pulling every damn sin from the man’s very heart. Lashes fluttering.

“Want me to show?” Came Ciel’s voice. Soft. Cotton candy sweet.

Unfair. It was so damn _unfair…_

 _Oh_ , how he wanted to dig his fingers into soft flesh and squeeze, pull, pepper his own bruises on the pale little body. How he wanted to find out how sin tasted, if it was bitter like little girl’s perfume, if it was sweet like cherry lip gloss, or if it was salty like the sweat of rosy tinted crevices.

Sebastian was a cursed man.

Befriending Vincent, loving him, and being tricked into ending up with a smaller, worse version when his lover finally left him.

Worse because of how _wrong_ it was.

Worse because of how _right_ it felt.

Ciel’s little hips _rolled_. The boy’s own swell was so small, tightly pressed against denim, against Sebastian’s throbbing erection.

“Ciel…”

“Hmm?”

Sticky lips descended very carefully on Sebastian’s neck, the heat of Ciel’s breath sending the man on a spiral.

“Ciel, please…”

The boy hummed again, much too pleased with himself.

But _that_ wasn’t it, that _couldn’t_ be it. Not begging, not pleading for more, for the right to cover the soft curves of Ciel’s doll body with Sebastian’s own ragged one, no, no, no…

“ _Ciel, please stop…_ ”

But he didn’t, of course he didn’t.

“You want to, right, daddy? You wanted to last week, too, I know you did…” And it was a whisper in those glossy lips, warm against the man’s neck.

Soft whimpers, baby kisses, fingers twining on Sebastian’s hair, and the damn _grinding_ that drove him insane. Sebastian’s mind was buzzing, hands still frozen around blood stained cotton and polka dot band aids, and Sebastian thought for a moment that if he died just then, it would have been fine. It would have been worth it.

A gruesome heart attack at the hands of a little porcelain doll.

He wondered if he could just stay there. If after Ciel had his way with him, Sebastian could tell himself it wasn’t his fault, just the boy’s. And his daft little hands. His swaying hips. His pretty moans. His hungry mouth.

If Ciel just took what he wanted, maybe Sebastian could even play the victim afterwards to make himself feel better.

But these were all just pipe dreams.

Sebastian was an adult, he knew better. Knew better than to let this little boy wrap hands and lips where they shouldn’t go. He should’ve known better from the bloody start.

It still pained him when his hands moved to Ciel’s waist, refraining from pulling him closer and instead pushing him away.

It was easy enough. The boy was so, so small.

“Ciel, I said _stop_.”

“But you like it…”

It was Vincent’s tone in those baby lips. The same words, the same voice, the same little grin. Sebastian knew it well. _But you like it_ , while touching Sebastian in places he never asked to be touched, making him moan and whine, and then teasing him for it.

He figured Ciel probably dealt with the same. Worse, in fact.

“Please _don’t_.” Sebastian whispered, fingers trembling on the thin waist they completely obscured.

Ciel tried to push forward, hands descending to the swell in Sebastian’s pants. “ _Please_ , let me, daddy…”

_Oh, baby boy…_

Sebastian launched himself up, and the kid fell to the ground with a squeak.

Sebastian wasn’t gonna let that get to him.

Not even if the buzzing in his ears got louder.

“Go to your room.”

Ciel’s big blue eyes were a maelstrom of fury, confusion.

Rejection.

It wasn’t just being left high and dry, not this time. It wasn’t just walking away, Sebastian was finally saying _no_ , finally acting like a goddamn parent.

Sebastian didn’t look at the kid, just breathed. Breathed. _He doesn’t know_ , told himself, _he doesn’t know love outside of this_.

“Fine.” Was all the kid spat out. He then stood up and stomped all the way upstairs.

When the door finally slammed, Sebastian collapsed on the couch, face in his sweaty palms.

He cursed under his breath, peeked between his fingers for things to throw, break, punch, tear. _Something_.

But all his eyes focused on was a small little band-aid on the low table. Bright blue, golden stars, from the package he had rushed to buy when Ciel was just five and wanted to help with cooking. Sebastian hadn’t thought twice about giving the tot a knife.

Hadn’t thought twice about turning away while Ciel handled something sharp, dangerous, unsuitable for a little kid. Bright eyed and innocent, soft porcelain skin, handling things made for breaking skin and drawing blood.

All Sebastian could do when the worst had inevitably happened was wipe the blood and place a band-aid over bruises that should’ve probably been stitched.

Ciel still had the scar.

A collection, really.

* * *

_Fridays were date night. For Rachel._

_For Sebastian, they were babysitting night._

_“Mr. Charles is so pissy even though we do everything right.”_

_“Which one?”_

_“Grey.”_

_“You have to stop calling them by their first names, that’s why they don’t like you.”_

_“Anyways, he’s so annoying, does he want us to just sit quietly for the rest of the class after we deliver our exam?”_

_“I think he just doesn’t want us to bother the other students.”_

_“It’s annoying! It’s boring!”_

_Sebastian’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel as he mindlessly drove home, listening to the banter in the backseat. It was the same level of gossip every Friday. The backpacks on the passenger’s seat were just a little different every week, though, bedazzled with every possible pink and sparkly keychain Vincent could find for his baby boys, but every time there was a new one. The only clean one._

_Skinny little arms wrapped around Sebastian’s neck, and one of the baby heads in the backseat leaned on his shoulder._

_“Mr. Michaelis--”_

_“Sit back down and put your seatbelt on.”_

_“Mr. Michaelis, can we watch a movie today?”_

_“Not if you make me crash the bloody car.”_

_“Okaaay…”_

_And down went the boy._

_Sebastian loved them both. Of course he did. Every inch of them. But they were still children, they were still young little hurricanes of energy, patience testing machines, always watching carefully for any weaknesses, any chinks in an adult’s armor. They were perfectly polite with Vincent around, but when daddy wasn’t there to manhandle them into perfect little dolls, they acted a lot more like kids._

_Sebastian wondered if it really was a good thing, on his third request for one of the little demons to put the damn seatbelt on, and his second request for the other one. Thankfully, his house wasn’t far from the school._

_He watched the little boys dragging their backpacks by the handle, sweater clad but already in shorts and thigh highs, and it was like they always eagerly waited for the last of the Winter breezes to finally ignore the existence of pants. The sweaters were too big, though, and nearly covered the shorts, making it seem like they were wearing nothing underneath. Sebastian would need to have a word with Rachel about their wardrobe. God knew Vincent wouldn’t hear. Would tease him for “staring”._

_“Mr. Sebastian!” Came the little chorus, in perfect synchrony, both boys cupping their hands around their cherry glossed lips and bending over to call from the front door._

_“Stop yelling, I’m coming.” He pulled the suitcase from the backseat, closed the driver’s door, and both back doors._

_They were already bargaining before he even stuck the key in the door, grabbing at his legs and pressed flush against his sides._

_“Can we watch a movie before homework?”_

_“No.”_

_“But we’ll definitely finish it, no matter what!”_

_“No.”_

_“We’ll even study extra!”_

_And then. “No, stupid, we_ won’t _!”_

_“There’s a test next week, though.”_

_“It’s just algebra!”_

_The bickering went on up the stairs and into the guest bedroom. Or_ the kids’ room _, as Vincent and Rachel just loved to call it. It wasn’t. Sebastian didn’t have any kids. He had leftovers when Vincent felt like eating something else._

_He froze for a moment. Shook his head._

_It was going to be a drinking night._

_Sebastian adjusted the little shoes by the entrance, tossed around carelessly as they always were. One pair pink with blue sequins and glittery laces, another one white and bright glittered pink with rainbow laces. Both scuffed and dirty, color rubbed off from the toe caps, which always seemed roughly used in all their shoes._

_They were so small in his hands, about the size of his open palm. Small, fragile, scuffed and dirty. He gently set them down beside his own perfectly clean wingtip oxfords, twice the size of the newly bought shoes from the girls’ aisle._

_Tonight was a sweatpants and shirt kind of night. Most nights were underwear and nothing else, but Sebastian learned it was inappropriate. Not from other adults, but from the kids gawking and giggling like idiots when he didn’t wear pants._

_Dinner was put in the oven, ham and cheese pull-aparts with mustard and Worcestershire sauce. Sebastian set a timer on his phone and then took a long breath, because it was time to check on the boys, and on their homework. And whatever shenanigans they had prepared for him upstairs._

_They were still in their shorts and socks, of course, but the sweaters were discarded on the floor and all that was left were long sleeve crop tops. One was laying on his stomach and the other on his back as they read their textbooks._

_“Everything alright?” Sebastian asked while picking the sweaters off the floor and folding them neatly. He didn’t really mean it-- if everything was alright, he could be gone, if it wasn’t, he had to stay._

_Sebastian stared a bit too long at the strip of skin between shorts and socks, winced._

_“It’s history.” The one on his stomach muttered._

_“That doesn’t answer my question.”_

_“It’s hard.” Sighed the other one._

_Sebastian swallowed hard, and then walked over, and sat on the corner of the bed. “What’s the problem?”_

_“It’s a lot of memorizing.”_

_“It tends to be, yes.”_

_“I’m good with logic, not memorizing.”_

_“I see.”_

_The other one piped in. “Maybe we can watch a documentary about it.”_

_“Yeah, but remember when Mr. Phipps taught us about Columbus?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“And it was all wrong?”_

_“Yeah…”_

_“And then we had to--”_

_“We had to put the_ wrong _answers on the test!”_

_Sebastian couldn’t help but laugh as he watched this little exchange._

_“What’s funny?”_

_“You two,” Sebastian smiled. “Are too smart for your own good.”_

_“No such thing, daddy says.”_

_Of course he did._

_The principal called Vincent often. The kids talked back at their teachers all the time, corrected them, challenged them, scoffed at them, and when he was told his children were being disrespectful, he just laughed._ Were they wrong? If they corrected it wrong, feel free to punish them, if not, you should hire a new teacher! _And so it was, every time. No such thing as being too intelligent, too resourceful, too witty. They were all that, and more._ Prodigy _wasn’t enough to describe how smart those little boys were. When Sebastian helped with homework, it was to help them learn the answers the school wanted, because they already knew the right answers, they just needed to learn the_ different _ones._

_There was still a long time until dinner was ready, so Sebastian helped. It was just memorizing, really, they made flashcards together, tested each other while Sebastian either corrected them or nodded._

_They learned remarkably fast, and even Sebastian, in all his indifference, couldn’t help but praise them._

_“That’s fantastic,” He whistled. “You two are amazing, you got it down perfectly.”_

_Both faces lit up in big bright smiles, and Sebastian gently ruffled the top of their heads._

_“Reward?” One of them said, looking like an excited puppy._

_“Reward?” Sebastian asked._

_“Daddy always rewards us when we do really, really well.” Said the other._

_It was the first Sebastian had heard of it, but as it was it_ had _been a long time since the twins needed any help with their homework aside from just being told they had it all correct, so he guessed something had changed in the way Vincent dealt with this._

 _“Reward.” He repeated, more to himself, and was deep in thought. Ice cream, maybe, or an extra movie before bed time. Or no bed time at all. Possibly even sleeping in_ his _bed? They seemed to always want to do that. Or perhaps--_

_He was pulled mid-thought to reality, abruptly, rudely, as he felt the weight of a little body over his lap._

_One of the twins was straddling him, knees spread open wide to accommodate for Sebastian’s large frame, and the boy was too damn close, too damn warm, looking up at him with doe eyes as little hands curled tight over Sebastian’s shirt._

_And it was hard to think, it was hard to move, he felt paralyzed, and it had been_ way too bloody long _since he last had anyone touch him, because Sebastian could feel his body responding immediately, the soft press against his crotch, the thighs tight around his waist, and those eyes, the goddamn eyes. All Rachel in color, all Vincent in mischief._

_“What are you doing?” Sebastian choked out, and he wanted to push the kid away, but was much too scared to touch the kid at all._

_“You’re gonna reward us, right?”_

_It wasn’t a request. Hell, it wasn’t even a question. There was a demand in the tone, like the boy knew he was going to get what he wanted. Whatever the bloody hell that was._

_“Ciel--” The other one said, and he was also too close, but not chokingly so, and he was pulling at his brother’s shirt._

_“Mr. Michaelis,_ please _…”_

 _“No,_ Ciel _, daddy will be mad…” The brother pouted._

_“It’s fine, daddy doesn’t have to know.”_

_Those eyes were still on Sebastian, pinning him down, and the heat of the kid’s breath was on his chin, and it would be fantastic if his brain could do anything but shut down._

_“Daddy will be_ mad _, and then he won’t reward us…”_

_“Are you gonna tell him?”_

_“Mr. Michaelis might.”_

_“He won’t, right, Sebastian?”_

_It was a question, this time. A real question. There was a long moment of silence, before Sebastian finally squeaked out. “Tell what…?”_

_“Ciel!”_

_The kids stared at each other now, and there was a silent conversation between those big blue pairs of eyes, while Sebastian’s whole body buzzed, while those soft little legs were still straddling him, and he wondered very quietly if he was dreaming-- no, if he was having a nightmare, the worst kind, the kind you wake up from feeling disgusted with yourself._

_Ciel looked away from his brother, annoyed, peeved, and his little arms wrapped around Sebastian’s neck, and his brother sighed, rolled his eyes, and Ciel leaned in, close, closer, too close, and his breath smelled like synthetic cherries, and Sebastian was sure,_ sure _he was going to have a heart attack, right then and there._

_And then the alarm rang._

_Dinner was ready._

_Sebastian mustered the bloody strength to pick the kid up by his armpits, stand up, and not-so-gently drop him on the bed._

_He was heaving like a man on the run, but the kids seemed just mildly surprised, a little taken aback._

_“Dinner’s ready.” Sebastian choked out, before briskly leaving the room._

_“I told you he wouldn’t.” He could hear from the hallway._

_“Boring. Would’ve been fun.”_

_“Daddy would’ve been so mad!”_

_“It’s fine, all I get is spanking if he’s mad.”_

_“One day he’ll find out you like it, and then he’ll stop doing it.”_

_“Not if you don’t tell him.”_

_Sebastian almost fell down the bloody stairs going back to the kitchen. He took out the damn dinner from the damn over, and before the kids came downstairs, he took a few heavy swigs of the old vodka in the fridge, on his knees, quickly and desperately, like a kid sneaking from his parents. Pathetically._

_The kids ate the whole platter of pull-aparts, and fell asleep on the couch at 1AM, on their third movie, before they could even think of asking to sleep in Mr. Michaelis’ room._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on @ overexciteddrgn on twitter, i also DRAW PORN FOR A LIVING and i post it there


	4. Fourth: Lowestoft Creamer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was beta read by the AMAZING JavaJowgie go read her stuff she's awesome AND horny too, the whole package
> 
> Don't look at me I'm depressed  
> I know it's been a long time but at least you guys are gonna get a nice lil treat today so congratulations thank u for waiting see you in like 5 months probably idk

There was no normalcy in his life, not anymore.

Sebastian was almost comfortable with it now, and that was dangerous. The slutty clothing and the tantrums, _I don’t even know why you don’t kick me out_ yelled in between tense dinners and awkward lonely nights spent hearing loud moaning from the bedroom down the hall. It wasn’t normal, it wasn’t healthy, but at the very least he wasn’t _Vincent_.

He would rather be known for hitting his kid than molesting him.

 _His kid_ , what a joke.

It was a wonder, really, how Ciel managed to keep his grades impeccable in the middle of all this mess. Sebastian’s head swirled in anxiety, picturing those scuffed knees placed firmly in front of a teacher’s chair, ensuring an A+ with every bob of that raven head. It was nothing but his imagination, though, Ciel always made _sure_ every adult he talked to _knew_ he was the most intelligent person in the room.

Didn’t know how to do taxes or schedule a doctor’s appointment, yet had every damn textbook memorized forwards and backwards.

“Did you know that the Spiritualism Movement had a major impact on the outcome of the American Civil War?” He would say, chin up and back straight, in the middle of supper, during commercials.

“Is that true, even?” Sebastian would frown.

It was a mistake to even ask, because every time it was an invitation, an admittance of ignorance to a thirteen-year-old who was hungry to be smarter and better than every adult he knew. Like he was trying to prove something to himself.

_I’m mature enough. I’m smart enough. I’m adult enough._

Sebastian couldn’t say it wasn’t humiliating to be schooled by a child wearing Hello Kitty sneakers.

“Are you, like, sure you’re doing okay with him?” Grelle asked over coffee, and she seemed genuinely worried.

Rightfully so, too. She wasn’t a stranger to faunlets like this one.

It had been such a long time since Sebastian saw another adult that he almost forgot how to have a normal conversation, constantly aware of his posture and making sure his feet weren’t being played with under the table… it was a breath of fresh air, really, to see a friend. Even if it meant Ciel would embarrass Sebastian by refusing to leave his bedroom to even greet her.

“I’m not, obviously,” Sebastian sighed. “But what else am I supposed to do?”

They both looked in the general direction of the upstairs, where Korean bubblegum pop was being blasted behind a locked pink door (Sebastian had painted it, out of the kindness of his heart. And the stupidity, too).

“You should talk to him.”

“You think I haven’t _tried_ , Grelle?”

She paused, took a sip of her coffee and stared down at the red lipstick perfectly stamped on the rim.“I think you haven’t tried talking to him without belittling him or trying to assert some sort of authority over this _grieving kid_.”

There was judgement in her voice, and the staring contest was easily won. Because she was right.

“I’m _trying_ to tell him I’m his parent now.”

“Except you _aren’t_ , Sebastian. You changed his diapers and let him sleep over sometimes. You didn’t raise him, Vincent did.”

“ _He sure fucking did…_ ” He whispered into his bitter coffee, and then sighed loudly. “That doesn’t change the fact that he sees me as a parental figure.”

“Calling someone _daddy_ doesn’t mean they see them as a dad,” She scoffed at him. “Lord knows _I_ know that. I’ve got, like, four _daddies_.”

“What the hell are you insinuating?” Sebastian said, stern, jaw locked. And for a moment, he thought he was caught, _knew_ she saw right through him. _Disgusting, filthy, you want to fuck that kid, you’re desperately trying to see yourself as superior to him, because then it’s easier--_

“I’m _saying_ he’s going through puberty and he’s going to go against literally everything you say, that’s just how it works. He’s going through a _lot_ on top of his body and brain changing,” Grelle’s red lips were a thin, concerned line. Sebastian sighed in a barely there relief. “You tell him to _not_ jump off a cliff and he’ll do it just to spite you.”

“Maybe I should tell him to _not_ act his age.”

“Now _that’s_ the spirit!” She grinned, mocking. “Just talk to him peer to peer. He obviously needs that. He needs to be treated with respect, not contempt.”

“And what do I do about the clothes?”

“What _do_ you do about the clothes?” Grelle winced, confused.

“I mean… am I just supposed to allow whatever the hell _that_ is to continue?”

“Sebastian, for crying out loud, let the kid dress up.”

“But what if he gets touched? Assaulted? God, I--”

“ _Sebastian_ , fucking _listen_ to yourself.”

She stared at him, horrified, and he knew why, too...

Sebastian wasn’t looking to protect Ciel’s honor, he was looking to stop himself from touching the kid. _How do I stop myself from wanting to put my mouth in every bloody crevice of that body if he keeps flaunting it_.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. This is stupid.” He waved it off.

“...Sure. Just… take care of him.”

“Yeah.”

“And take care of _yourself_. When was the last time you shaved, even?”

“Fuck off. And what about you? You’re almost dressed casual, how disgraceful for you.”

“You want me to stop by for coffee in all my singer regalia?” A snort. “Sebastian, you’re not worth the trouble…”

The man smiled, and for the first time in so long, it was genuine.

“I’m happy for you, but I do miss you.”

“Of course you are, and _of course_ you do. I couldn’t imagine a life without me, how tragic…” Grelle kicked his knee gently. “I do miss being here, my little town, but I also like having money, and a career.”

“Better than my shitty job.”

“Oh, certainly. Maybe I should be your sugar mommy.”

“Finally I can quit my boring IT job and work on my dream project: sleep for 12 hours a day every day for the rest of my life.”

Grelle cackled. “You need it! _Look_ at your eyes, you really _do_ look like a new dad!”

It was soothing, having another adult to talk to, joke with, be unconcerned about which words to pick, how to interact with her. Sebastian missed the simplicity of it all, even if it happened once in a blue moon, when her tours didn’t take her all over the place.

When she left, there was still a sense of respite. Sebastian felt human again, imperfect and stressed out, but _human_. The kid upstairs was just a kid, the horrid way his body reacted to Ciel was nothing but misplaced grief. Sebastian was an _adult_ , he was _in control_ , and he wasn’t about to let some bratty child make him lose himself.

* * *

_Talk to him_ , she had said, and Sebastian agreed.

They haven’t talked about Vincent, about _Ciel_ , about losing his entire family and being shoved in his godfather’s guest room to play house like everything was going to be okay. It wasn’t, _nothing_ was going to be okay, and the kid was obviously _desperate_ for affection while Sebastian could do nothing but shove him away or jack off over his sleeping body.

It was a joke in poor taste, all of it, and Sebastian’s growing attraction to the _child_ was the punchline.

But he had to talk to Ciel, Grelle was right to say so too, and he had to stop pretending parenting was just barking orders and checking school flyers. Ciel had a story to tell, and if Sebastian wasn’t willing to listen to it, someone else would.

And if someone else did, they would take Ciel away from him, because they’d _know_ Sebastian was entirely incapable of being a parent, letting the kid wear lacy panties and his guardian’s shirts like a teenage girlfriend… they would know, they would _find out_ \-- about Vincent’s actions, and Sebastian’s feelings. And then they would take Ciel away from him.

Sebastian couldn’t let that happen.

The day after Grelle’s visit, Sebastian made the decision to talk to Ciel after school.

The day after Grelle’s visit, Sebastian also got the phone call that ruined everything.

When the ringing began and the man saw the caller ID, he knew something was wrong before he even took the call.

“Mr. Michaelis? My name is Arthur Randall, I’m the principal of the school, we talked a couple months ago after you gained custody of Mr. Phantomhive.” A pause. “I have Mr. Phantomhive in my office right now. Would you be so kind as to pay us a visit? It is quite the urgent matter.”

Sebastian’s mouth was dry.

The phone call had come barely two hours after the kid had left again for afternoon classes, having stopped for a snack. Pink unicorn backpack trailing behind him, long sleeve crop top barely covering his ribcage. Goddamn booty shorts, of all fucking things. And knee high socks. Because of course.

“Can you please change your shirt?” Sebastian had tried, but the kid was gone already, leaving behind nothing but a bloody ulcer.

Sebastian had tried not to think about it too much. Grelle was right, it was only clothes, and if this is how he chose to express himself, then so be it.

Plus, Ciel was taking extra classes because he was impossibly smart, it was for _fun_. Extra knowledge, and he was hungry for it. Among other things, and Sebastian was glad he seemed to be satiating himself _only_ in knowledge.

The kid was annoyingly intelligent. It wasn’t something to complain about, though, if anything he was relieved that of all things to worry about in regards to Ciel, grades were the absolute least of his problems. He could even risk saying he was _proud_ , if it were not for the way Ciel acted like he was the one educating Sebastian, and in the most petulant way he managed to as well.

So clothes? Clothes he could ignore. He could look away and resist his filthy urges, as long as Ciel was happy, as long as his grades were up.

But that phone call sent his brain on a maelstrom of fear.

Because Sebastian’s mind was quick to understand things and make connections. Because before the Principal even so much as introduced himself, Sebastian’s mind was already working, thinking, dreading.

Ciel was one of a small handful of students taking afternoon classes, but on Mondays Sebastian knew Ciel was supposed to be taking the first class by himself. Mr. Doyle. English class. And Ciel went on and on about Mr. Doyle, about how much he enjoyed the classes, the teacher, about how excited he was to deliver his essays and studies.

So there were no other students. One hour into the afternoon. Ciel and Mr. Doyle. Alone.

And now a phone call. _Urgent matter_.

Sebastian swallowed sharply. “I’ll be right there.” And hung up.

He had to pry his stiff fingers off the wheel when finally parked in the near-empty lot.

It was odd to be on the school grounds when there was barely a soul habitating the place. Sebastian had only visited Ciel’s school once; to talk to the Principal about the matters of custody, and ensure Ciel’s grades and studies were given leniency due to the recent traumatic events.

It was a half useless visit. Ciel’s grades hadn’t dropped in the slightest.

Sebastian thought it was just because Ciel was that good.

Bloody _moron_.

When he opened the door to the Principal’s office, Ciel was looking down at his phone, short legs swaying under his seat. He was pretending to be unconcerned, but damn, Sebastian had watched him babble his first words, changed the fucker’s diapers, he knew Ciel _well_ , and the kid was uneasy at best.

“Mr. Michaelis, please take a seat.”

Randall looked like a prick too, happy as could be about finally catching Ciel pulling some shit. Sebastian knew the man hated his boy. Had it out for him, Ciel had said.

“Mr. Randall.” Sebastian greeted him, taking the seat beside Ciel.

There was a beat of silence, and then the words Sebastian already knew he was going to hear.

“I am afraid I have found your godchild has been indecently involved with one of our teachers.”

Sebastian didn’t say anything, focusing all his might on not bouncing his knee, not picking his nails, not clenching his jaw.

“I am attempting here to be as… _lenient_ as I can be, with both parties, you see,” _Both parties_. They didn’t want the school name stained. “We have chosen to punish the involved teacher by sending him off on a two-week leave.” _Paid_. It was well implied. “And we have decided to not punish Mr. Phantomhive with something as heavy as an expulsion. In exchange… we would like to strongly ask you--no, _advise_ you, to please not make such matters public.”

 _Don’t press charges, or we’ll kick him out_.

Sebastian took a deep breath.

“I see.” Was all he could manage with the burning heat in his throat, behind his eyes.

“There is the matter of punishing the ki--Mr. Phantomhive,” He was trying to avoid acknowledging Ciel’s age. Smart. “It’s more of a small mercy than a punishment, really, but he won’t be allowed to take extra classes unless mandated anymore.”

Ciel’s reaction was abrupt. “Wait! That’s not _fair!_ ”

“Mr. Michaelis?” Randall didn’t even _look_ at the boy.

Sebastian wanted to pick at those filthy wrinkles until the skin peeled off.

He took another deep breath. “That’s acceptable. I deeply apologize for my godchild inconveniencing the school.”

It burned in his throat. Vincent’s boy, _his boy_ , and the damn English teacher. Sebastian wanted to destroy every surface of that pristine office, gouge the principal’s eyes off with his collectors' silver spoons.

“We would also like to request that the dress suggestions start being followed strictly,” _Suggestions_ , because they didn’t have a _code_ , they weren’t rules. Not for such a proud modern school like this. They were now, though, just for Ciel. “As we believe such matters would’ve been avoided had Mr. Phantomhive followed them.”

Sebastian’s fingernails scratched the glaze off the wooden armchair. He was blaming the kid. _Blaming the kid_. Blaming his _clothes._

“Quite.”

“Quite.” Randall agreed, with a smile that showed far too many teeth.

Sebastian wanted to take a bat to the man’s skull, watch that smile crack.

But Sebastian was a hypocrite.

His anger was well placed, for a moment. It was the normal, morally conscious reaction. It couldn’t have been Ciel’s fault, Ciel was a child, young and innocent, and it was still late Summer, of course he’d wear clothes for hot weather, and if the party involved was an adult--a teacher, at that, then of course, _of course_ , it was the teacher’s fault. He did this. _He_ took his hands to Ciel’s peach soft legs, _he_ took his mouth to Ciel’s glossy lips, _he_ carefully undid the layers covering rose tinted nipples.

But Sebastian, in his knowing Ciel, couldn’t picture this scenario without the preamble of Ciel’s own endless flirting. Couldn’t blame the teacher when _he_ was touching himself every night to the thought of Ciel’s pearly skin and baby lips.

Couldn’t blame the teacher, when Ciel had tried to suck him off not a week before.

His anger turned to Ciel, instead, and Sebastian hated himself for it. Hated the way he politely thanked the Principal as his twitching fingers wrapped around Ciel’s wrist and pulled, hated the satisfaction that came with Ciel’s pained gasp, hated the way he stormed off the office but gently closed the door to not incur Randall’s distaste for him.

Sebastian pulled the kid as he walked, steps echoing in the empty hallways, ignored the pleads and whines and _God, Sebastian, let me go!_ , because he wouldn’t let go of that boy anymore, wouldn’t let any other man touch him like that, couldn’t pry the image off his _fucking head_.

Ciel sucking another man. Ciel grinding on another man. Ciel moaning for another man. Taking off his clothes, showing off his cunt, begging, whining, bouncing, slick and stretched… _for another man_.

He turned around a corner far enough from the office and finally faced the kid.

“How often do you do this?” Sebastian felt heat rise in his chest, hand wrapped too tight around the thin wrist.

Ciel tried to push him away, looking downwards.

“What do you care?”

“I care. _I care_. Because I’m _supposed to_ , I’m your _godfather!_ ”

Ciel was silent, mechanical hands pushing at his wrist.

“Vincent left me with you, he wanted me to take care of you, so yeah, Ciel, I have to _fucking care_ …”

He swallowed hard. He didn’t want to say something he’d regret. Something that would hurt the boy deeper than the scars Vincent had peppered over that little body over and over. But it was hard to think of Ciel’s well-being when all Sebastian could think of was how many people had touched him, where, how often. None of them being _him_. None of the hands traveling up the crevices of that tiny body being _his_.

“How many people? Classmates? Teachers?” Sebastian’s mouth was dry. “Strangers? Who…?”

“It’s not a big deal…”

“ _It is to me, you stupid whore!_ ”

Ciel paused. Sebastian held his breath.

God. Idiot.

 _Just talk to him peer to peer_ , he said. _He needs to be treated with respect, not contempt_.

Peer to peer. No contempt. It was hard. It was harder than anything Sebastian had ever done, it felt impossible.

There he was, this baby slut flaunting his perfect little body to Sebastian and everyone else who could see, and he wanted _respect?_

Idiot. Absolute moron.

“All because of what? Can’t bounce on your dad’s cock anymore? Can’t suck off your brother anymore?”

Shut up. _Shut up_.

His voice was too high. It echoed in the hallways, ugly, thick as poison. There was still a part of Sebastian that was worried. _If people found out_ …

“Because _I_ won’t fuck you?”

Ciel was very still, baby wrist loose in Sebastian’s angry fingers.

There was a shadow of a bruise on his neck. A bite mark. It made him _growl_.

Sebastian pulled him, and marched. Eyes scanning the empty hallways to find… what?

Ah, _a bathroom_. Open and empty.

He shoved Ciel in. Closed the door behind him.

“Is that your fucking problem? You little prick? That I won’t act like your dad? The sick fuck that throat-fucked you from birth?”

 _Fucking hell_.

It was rage, building up and boiling over, red and hot and biting. Ciel’s eyes weren’t meeting his. Little prick didn’t even have the nerve to look up, but had the nerve to bounce on a teacher’s cock. Right. _Right_.

Sebastian shoved him too hard into the handicap stall. Walked in. Locked it.

There were too many thoughts going through his head for him to _think properly_. Never in his bloody life… never, fucking never been this mad, felt this helpless. _Scared_.

Terrified.

Of the world. Of Ciel. Of himself.

Of _Vincent_.

Reduced to ashes and _still_ cursing Sebastian’s damn life.

Ciel’s back was against the tiled wall, glossy base- coat fingernails picking at cuticles. Bare scuffed knees rubbing against each other. Wispy dark gray hair over stormy eyes.

Sebastian was _shaking_.

It felt like an eternity of a second from locking the stall door to crowding the kid against the wall. He was so small… _so goddamn small_. He looked stunted and pale, as if the sun had never touched him once. But bruised like everyone else had.

Barely reached up to Sebastian’s chest. Skin and bones and bite marks and pink cheeks.

Sebastian had thought, once, doing the dishes of his latest baking experiment (lemon meringue pie, a complex one. He did alright.), about how long he’d last. Thought about five years of Ciel hooking his creamy legs around his waist, of Ciel wearing drawstring booty shorts and dropping lace panties in the laundry, of Ciel sucking on lollipops noisily laying on the couch with his ass up and shirts that made him seem more promiscuous than a bare chest.

He had wondered quietly. Given himself time to really, properly _think_ without giving into the urge to pull away like the idea of fucking Vincent’s kid burned him. Just _think_.

Sebastian wasn’t sure then, as he scrubbed spoons and bowls absentmindedly. He wasn’t sure how long he’d last, wasn’t sure if any proper hookup would compare to the thought of touching baby thin wrists and soft pale thighs. He could invite himself to the redhead next door, she’d be up for it, after leaving her kids at soccer practice and kissing her husband goodbye. It was filthy enough, but not in the same way, not in the way of unfurling a rosebud too soon, forcing it open and digging your fingers into peach red crevices until it bled.

Not as cathartic, not as filthy. _Diabolic_.

Especially when Ciel very openly asked for it.

Not in the victim blaming sense, Sebastian wasn’t shitty enough to go _that far_.

No, Ciel _was_ looking for a dad in Sebastian, and Vincent was a dad that dug fingernails into porcelain skin and slipped tongue between baby lips. So of course Ciel was looking for a semblance of that.

The thought of it tasted foul in the back of his throat.

He wouldn’t have minded being a dad.

Wouldn’t have minded packing school lunches, checking homework, kissing foreheads, placing band-aids.

But Ciel wanted goodbye kisses with twisting tongue, bedtime stories with wandering hands, movie nights with bouncing hips. Sebastian couldn’t give him that. _Shouldn’t_.

But he would.

Sebastian was a smart man, old enough to have gone through hell and back enough times, and he knew his body, his mind, his _limits_.

One day he’d crack.

Five years was a long, long time.

Ciel’s fingertips picked at cuticles until they bled. Sebastian watched quietly, thoughts going a million miles an hour as his body eclipsed the doll before him.

 _One day_.

He just didn’t think it’d be this fast.

Or this laced with anger.

Right after he had finally felt normal again, felt like a proper adult, in control of himself and the world around him… it was a bad joke-- Sebastian’s hand cupped the silken chin, brought it up. Bent over. Low, low, _so low_ his back hurt. So low his heart ached.

He tasted cherry lip gloss and a choked up whine.

Thin arms immediately wrapped around his neck, brought him _closer_. Somehow that hurt worse.

Ciel’s tongue was the one that licked his lips open, searching. Sebastian kissed back furiously, hands grabbing at wispy hair, soft skin, burying under the tiny crop top. Ciel just _moaned_.

Fucking Vincent. _Fucking Vincent_.

He moaned so pretty that Sebastian was immediately hit with the feeling that no grown woman would ever be enough again. Screw it, _screw them_ , he needed that noise again.

Ciel stood on his tip toes, girl’s heelys from the kids aisle, but Sebastian still had to bend down so low his knees shook.

“Ahn-- Mr. Michaelis… _Sebastian_ , _please_ …” Ciel called in between sloppy, wet, cherry kisses. Baby lips, baby tongue, baby pink cheeks and big bright eyes.

It’s like he was made for this.

 _He was_.

But Sebastian hadn’t forgotten his fury.

He pulled Ciel by the wrist again, ignoring a pained squeak. Sebastian sat on the toilet lid and brought the boy to his lap, groping his ass, filling his little mouth again with tongue and teeth and _poison_.

Ciel moaned, _moaned_ so sweet and pleading as if Sebastian was fucking him already. It drove him nuts.

“Bloody hell,” he gritted out. “You _do_ sound like a fucking whore.”

Half-lidded blue jewels stared deep into Sebastian’s eyes. There was no animosity, no shame, no reservation in them.

Ciel knew _this_. Knew it well. How to act, what to do, how to sound, how to _move_ and _grind_ on Sebastian’s lap like the good boy he was.

 _Fucking Vincent_.

“Is this what you want? _Hm_?” He spat out, gritted teeth. “Bratty slut, is this what you fucking want?”

Ciel’s arms wrapped around his shoulders. Arched back, spread legs, eyes half lidded, lips glossy and puckered, head slightly tilted to the side. Pretty, _so pretty_. Well trained, groomed to the core.

It made Sebastian sick. He wanted to break this porcelain doll.

This fucked up inheritance, a one way trip to hell with a layover in jail. Used goods. Worn out, yet package quality.

Sebastian wanted to scream.

He buried his face in the crook of Ciel’s neck, buried his teeth in creamy skin. Fingernails dug under booty shorts and found lace.

“Do you wear panties to school every day? You have proper underwear, but you wanna show off, hm?”

Ciel whined, tilted his head to give Sebastian more skin to bite and kiss and lick at.

“Take off your shorts, c’mon,” he barked, punctuating the command with a slap of the boy’s ass.

Ciel stood up and quickly pushed down the denim over his creamy thighs and pink shoes. Calculated, deliberate moves.

Sebastian’s fingers trembled on his belt buckle, but Ciel helped. Knelt down, reached over, expertly pulled the leather from the confines of metal buckle, unbuttoned, unzipped. Found Sebastian’s underwear bulging and twitching.

“Is this what you do? To all of them? Do you pull down their pants like this too? You fucking--”

Ciel licked a long, thick stripe up his shaft, eyes looking up from under thick lashes and lips wrapping over cloth. Pulling at it. Sebastian grabbed thin gray hair with uncalled aggression. Pulled Ciel’s perfect little porcelain face and rubbed it on his cock. Hard and ugly.

Ciel squeaked, a little less pretty this time. It was satisfying to hear.

Sebastian pushed the cotton fabric down, barely managed half his cock out in that ridiculous position. Held Ciel’s face down, rubbed it in.

“Fucking filthy.”

Ciel’s eyes were still heavy, bright, trained. Glossy lips pressed against angry purple veins.

Sebastian pulled him off, stood up.“Hands on the bloody door. I’ll fucking give you what you want.”

Ciel promptly obeyed. Slow, enthralling movements of turning around, bending over, fingers splaying on the stall door, head hanging between flushed, milky shoulders.

“I knew it,” the kid murmured. “Knew you’d fuck me. Knew you’d break.”

“ _Shut your whore mouth or I’m gonna break something else._ ”

Sebastian hooked a finger on the tiny lacy thing and pulled _hard_. Ciel gasped. He then pulled harder, and the fabric tore.

It was white lace, like a virgin’s wedding piece. It made him sick to the stomach, made it cathartic to rip it. He left the thick band around Ciel’s waist, useless.

He didn’t deserve the nakedness of sex, this wasn’t that. It was ugly and angry and bruising.

Sebastian’s hands nearly eclipsed the rosy cheeks as he spread them apart. His jaw locked at the vision of the pink tight ring, puffy with use-- not just recent use. Sebastian knew it well. Ciel was custom made, after all.

He spat in the tight hole, rubbed his finger around it before breaching, digging into warm flesh. Sebastian pointedly ignored the pretty little moans, the soft shaky knees, the way Ciel unfurled and twitched around his finger like he _needed_ this.

The practiced _ahn, ahn, ahn_ with a small voice, like a girl’s. Sebastian pulled out his thumb, dug two fingers and spread them open, fucked the tight little cunt open.

“Keep your voice down, you stupid slut.”His voice came out like molasses. Dry lips.

Sebastian pulled out, held his painfully hard cock with shaky fingers, rubbed the head against the cleft of Ciel’s ass to the tone of girly whines.

He pushed in. Hard, fast. It almost hurt, Ciel was so tight, _so goddamn tight_ , and warm, and soft inside like nothing else Sebastian ever had. Ciel’s throaty, long moan was a song in his ears.“Fuck, _fuck_ , Ciel. Shit.”

If he wasn’t careful he’d finish too soon.

Tight, warm, carefully relaxed. Sebastian’s hands clasped on the thin pale waist, a choked noise rang from his throat as he watched his hands cover the expanse of it so easily.

So small, _so small_ …

He moved. Thrusting in and out, hard like a punishment, as easily as he’d spank the kid. Ciel’s fingers closed into fists against the door and his head hung low between shoulders.

“ _Ahn-- ahn, please, please…_ ” Like a cheap whore.

No, not cheap.Sebastian knew that, at least.

“ _Please_ , Seb--”

“ _No_ , shut up. Don’t call me that. What were you calling me before, hm?”

“Ahn, ah--I’m… _uhn_ …”

“When you were fucking with me? Rubbing your slutty cunt against me? Hmm? What was it?”He thrust deep, held still, watched Ciel squirm and felt him twitch and _squeeze_.

“D-daddy… _daddy_ , please…”

Sebastian thrust again, a violent movement of his hips, like he wanted to break the boy. “That’s right, love,” He whispered into flushed pink ears. “ _I’m_ your daddy now, and you’re gonna take daddy’s cock like a doll, aren’t you?”

“Ye-- _yes_ ,” A pause to swallow, to gasp. “Yes--daddy _, daddy--uhnnn_ …”

Sebastian watched the little puffy ring of flesh pulled and pushed as his cock violated it over and _over_.“Is this what you wanted, babydoll? Daddy’s cock in your tight little cunt? Is that why you were acting out, you damn _whore?_ ”

“ _Yes--ahhnn--_ ”

Fuck. _Fuck_. A part of Sebastian wanted to bring Vincent back to life just to kill him again, another part wanted to sanctify the prick.

Ciel was just so, _so…_

The boy’s head turned around, milky blue eyes wet with tears, looking at Sebastian like he was some sort of fucked up savior.“Daddy-- _ahn_ , ple--please, _please_ ,” A whine. “Will you plea-- _uhnn_ … will you cum in--inside me… _please_ …”

Sebastian doubled over and _laughed_.“Is that what Vincent taught you? To ask for your cunt filled nice and proper?”

Ciel only knew to moan, glossy pink lips slack as his baby blues pleaded.

Sebastian squeezed the little waist, wondered if he could crack something inside Ciel, if he could break this leftover doll with enough brute force.

But Ciel was trained, his body practiced and hardened to take Vincent’s cruel touches. Sebastian knew those touches well, knew there was no way Vincent would craft flimsy, low quality china.

He could smash this boy against the floor. He’d only moan and beg.

Sebastian cursed under his breath, head filled with tight heat and high pitched moans, with the mesmerizing curves of Ciel’s pale body, the way the skin on his little ass rippled with harsh thrusts, his hiccups and pleads and _daddy, daddy, ahn_ …

“Shut up, _shut up!”_ He moved a hand to clasp over the soft lips. “Fuck. Damn it, Ciel, you want them to hear? Hear you begging for daddy’s cock?” Sebastian gritted his teeth. “You fucking whore, of course you do, you love showing off, don’t you?”

A wet whine behind his hand.

“Oh, you do, wearing those tight little shorts, putting lacy panties in the laundry, you like showing off to me, hmm?”

A choked moan.

“Been begging for my cock since you moved in, now look what you made me do…”

Hitched breaths, shaky knees, wet eyes.

“Showing off your little cunt to me, fucking your friend for me to hear, grinding on my lap, then fucking your goddamn teacher… _look what you made me do, Ciel_ …”

And the boy _wailed_ , tiny body spasming beneath Sebastian’s cruel hands as he kept fucking him harder, faster, feeling Ciel’s climax rocking his whole body.

“God, fuck, _fuck,_ Ciel,” Sebastian growled, buried his face in the crook of the boy’s neck. “Did you just cum to that? Do you like being degraded? Did Vincent teach you that, too? _Fuck…_ ”

Sebastian felt his eyes prickle with tears. Anger, mourning, _pleasure_ , there was a choked sob somewhere in his throat that he didn’t let out. How deranged did a man have to be to get aroused by a child’s orgasm by humiliation? Knowing where it came from, _knowing_ the abuse that little body underwent to be reacting this way… Sebastian bit down on the creamy dip between neck and shoulder, feeling the heat in his groin growing, spreading. He fucked into the boy with arrhythmic thrusts until the climax hit him, buzzed in his ears. Made him bite harder, taste blood.

He spilled into the tight little body, but kept moving, sloshing his cum inside Ciel until it spilled out to stain the pale thighs.

There was a beat of silence and loud, gasped breathing.Enough time for thoughts to form.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What did I do? What did I do…?_

Sebastian slowly straightened up. He winced at the angry purple finger prints on the pale waist, at the messy blotch of red on the neck below him.

Was he that harsh? Was it on purpose?

Had he _wanted_ to hurt the child?

Sebastian pulled out and watched the bruised pink ring twitch, cum leaking out, thick and plenty.

 _It’s been a while_ , he thought, head still buzzing with a million emotions he didn’t want to touch, _of course there’s this much, of course it’s this thick_.It stuck to pale skin, dripping, rolling down in sticky, ugly blots.

He wanted to vomit. And then Ciel’s knees finally gave out. The doll fell to the ground in a heap, heaving and shaking. He leaned back against Sebastian’s legs.

Sebastian didn’t have time to feel sorry for himself.

Mechanical, careful, gentle. He sat the boy on the open toilet bowl, noticed Ciel’s little prick coated in cum, heard his own cum _drip, drip_ into the water below as he moved the denim short legs over each shoe, pulled it up.

“Hold onto my shoulders.”

Ciel did, skin and bone arms wrapped tight around Sebastian’s neck with so much affection it made him want to cry. He pulled the shorts over the round cheeks, heard the soft squelch of the denim pressing blots of cum flat against skin, did the zipper, did the button. He tore the useless lacy white band that had ridden up Ciel’s waist, shoved it in his pocket with shaky fingers.

If he disposed of it in school, people could find out.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as Sebastian picked up the boy. He could hold Ciel up with a single arm hooked around his back and his folded thighs.

Something painful tugged at Sebastian’s chest, but he ignored it and instead looked around the stall to see anything incriminating.

 _Incriminating_.

He needed to get rid of evidence. The buzzing in his ears was unbearably loud, and the shaky, baby breaths on his shoulder only made it worse. He bent over to pull some toilet paper, wiped Ciel’s cum off the door and tile, tossed it in the toilet. Flushed.

Mechanical. Careful.

Was there anything else? His own cum? Sweat? Loose threads from the lacy panties?

His vision was blurry. He couldn’t see freaking _anything._

Sebastian opened the stall door, and next thing he knew he was standing by his car in the parking lot.

Ciel was gently, _slowly_ sat on the passenger’s seat. Seatbelt. A kiss on forehead. Door closed. Open driver’s door. Sit down. Seatbelt. Mirror. Ignition.

Sebastian had no fucking clue how he managed to not crash the damn car on the way home.

At some point he had carried Ciel’s sleeping form home and was now standing before a soft heap under the white sheets of his own bed.

 _Short term memory loss_ , he thought, absentmindedly. _Can be caused by stress, anxiety, depression, or traumatic events_. He’d read it somewhere. It was an interesting article about the psychology of trauma, how it affects you, your body, your brain. He had read it while doing research to better understand how to take care of Ciel after the boy had lost his family.

Sebastian took a sip of the coffee he didn’t remember preparing.

* * *

Porcelain was made in a very particular way.

The materials were crushed together, destroyed thoroughly until they became a fine powder. The powder was then cleaned to remove improperly sized materials, unwanted bits that couldn’t be properly broken. Then it would be forced into a mold, with so much pressure the powder retained the shape, and afterwards it would be heated up.

After crushing, removing unwanted parts, forcing it into a preferred shape, and burning it solid, all that’s left was glazing. Dressing it in pretty colors. Bruising the surface with blotches of ink.

Pink, purple, green. Finger shaped. Crescent moon bites. Blood red.

There was so much Sebastian hadn’t seen, hadn’t done anything about. Vincent might’ve been dead, but his finger prints were still scars under the white baby skin, stretched out over a thin layer of fat, barely held up by bird bones.

He had worked those boys from birth, and Sebastian did nothing about it. Watched him squeezing and touching, kissing and licking. Thought it was jokes, games, some bullshit parental technique.

Sebastian didn’t have kids.

It was an excuse. So he wouldn’t look ugly at his best friend, his lover, when he touched his boys in indecent places.

Vincent knew Sebastian wouldn’t do anything. He had to have known, if he was going to be so obvious about it. There was a good chance Sebastian was the only one that saw it at all; after all, during the pool parties, barbeques, birthdays, the boys were the ones being “inappropriate”, sitting on laps that weren’t their daddy’s, licking chocolate cake icing off their fingertips noisily, bending over with their knees straight.

Everyone looked away, thought it was some puberty shit. Promiscuous boys, started off early. That was all there was to it. But Sebastian knew better.

He knew better and did _fuck all._

And now, after fucking Vincent’s kid raw in his high school bathroom, after making Ciel call him _daddy_ of all stupid things… now, he was no better than Vincent.

No, he was _worse_.

Because Vincent seemed to think of his kids as objects, so it made sense that he used them. But Sebastian? Sebastian saw them as human. He watched them grow from babies to tweens, changed their diapers, helped them with homework, had sleepovers with them, attended birthday parties. He saw them as a nuisance, brats, as proof that Vincent would never be truly his.

He hated their existence.

And he loved them dearly.

Because they were children and didn’t know any better, because they were innocence in a tiny package smelling of baby powder and too much sunscreen. Because they were Vincent’s, and Sebastian loved everything Vincent gave him. Even Rachel’s presence. Even their babies.

He loved them so much.

And he did it anyway.

Bent Ciel over and violated him, just like his filthy, repulsive dad.

Every step Sebastian took around his own house echoed loudly in his ears, rattling his brain. He did the dishes, he cleaned the floor, he put the bowl of wet food out for the stray cats that sometimes visited, he distracted himself from the baby lump curled up in the middle of his own bed.

 _Why_ his own bed? _Stupid. Disgusting_.

When the pale bruised body showed signs of stirring awake on the 25th time Sebastian had come to check on him, he left to draw a bath. Sebastian had a single bath bomb, one of those colorful things, glittery, purple and blue like a galaxy (like an ugly _bruise_ ), that he had gotten from Grelle, for some made up holiday, and it had been in the back of his bathroom cabinet for a year. He set it down on the bath lip.

Ciel would enjoy watching it painting the water pretty colors.

“Daddy…?” Came the sleepy call.

Sebastian walked briskly to the bedroom, white as a sheet. “Hey, hey,” he fretted over the boy. “How are you feeling…?”

A stupid question. He knew it already.

Baby blues looked into his eyes, Ciel rubbed the sleep off of them. “‘M okay… did you bring me home?”

“Yeah. You fell asleep in the car.”

Ciel hummed, yawned. He sat up and stretched with a loud moan. Sebastian didn’t look at the pale skin being pulled over the small ribcage.

“I drew you a bath.”

Ciel looked up at Sebastian and gave him a tired smile. “Thank you, daddy…”

“ _You don’t have to call me that._ ”

Silence.

It came out stern, almost aggressive, and Sebastian chastised himself. “Sorry, I just… you don’t have to. I’m sorry for saying those things…”

Ciel blinked slowly, expression unreadable. He shrugged, the little prick. Then got up and swayed his ass all the way to the bathroom, shaking his top off on the way.

Sebastian’s jaw locked. He was going to start greying early.

“Sebastian? Come here, please!”

His feet immediately moved. _Obedient_. Sebastian hated himself just a little bit.

Ciel was in the tub already, milky skin glistening wet, clothes all over the tiled floor. His knees were bent up, scuffed skin framed by lilac water.

“What is it?” Sebastian asked from the doorway. He didn’t dare take another step.

Ciel’s head leaned against his knees, eyes never leaving Sebastian’s, deep and piercing. He had a _bad_ smile on his face that made Sebastian’s knees shake. “Keep me company?”

“No.”

The smile faltered. “Please, daddy?”

“ _Stop_ calling me that.”

Ciel groaned loudly, a whiny teenage groan, and rolled his eyes. He examined his manicured nails.

“Ciel…” Sebastian walked closer, trying to put thoughts into words, to string them into something a thoroughly groomed kid would _understand_. “I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry. ”He sat on the tiled floor two feet away from Ciel. _Just in case_.

The blue jewels bore into his eyes again, stone-faced. “Why?”

“...Excuse me?”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s _not_.”

Ciel looked _bored_.

“I shouldn’t touch you like that. Or talk to you like that. I hurt you, I’m sorry.”

The boy’s mouth twitched in amusement, and it made Sebastian self conscious.

God. _Christ_. Of _course_ Vincent’s kid was impossible to apologize to as well. Of fucking course. Sebastian _knew_ what he had done, was ready to hate himself already, and here this kid was, still leaking Sebastian’s cum out his ass and rolling his eyes at the apology.

“It was nice,” Ciel picked up the bath bomb, tossed it from one hand to another like a bully readying to knock someone’s nose in. “I liked it.”

“Ciel, you _think_ you like it--”

“Did you?”

He was staring at Sebastian again, locking him in place. The little prick.

“No.” He lied through his teeth. Badly, too.

“But you came. A lot.”

“But I didn’t like it.”

“ _Liar, liar_ …”

Ciel dropped the bath bomb, watched it intently with a mesmerized childish look. There was a shiver in the boy’s body. Barely noticeable, a tremble that took over his lips, his scuffed knees, disturbed the water around him.

For a long moment, they sat in silence, stewed in their lies and suffering together, in their shared trauma, in Sebastian’s offenses. _Maybe he’s in pain, maybe it hurts, maybe it aches_ , behind that porcelain mask of unwavering vulgarity, and maybe Sebastian could see a crack.

But of course Ciel wouldn’t let him.

“What’s for dinner?” The little faun asked, licking his lips.

Sebastian stood up and stormed off, feet heavy on the tiled floor. He barely managed to not slam the bathroom door as he closed it. Then slammed his own bedroom door.

He shoved a pillow in his face and _screamed_. Then launched it across the room. Knocked a lamp and alarm clock. Kicked the bed frame.

This time, he didn’t stop his fist from connecting to the wall, breaking plaster.

Sebastian breathed in, jaw clenching painfully. He pulled his fist from the wall and watched, vision blurry and red with fury, as a thick blood trickled down his knuckles. Plaster can’t do that, he had somehow managed to hit a stud. Luckily.

No need to fix the wall. He could cover the hole with a painting. Cover up the mess he had made with something pretty, something innocent.

Supper was Ciel’s favorite. And so was dessert. Steamed salmon and chocolate cake.

* * *

_Some nights, the special ones, Sebastian had Vincent to himself._

_No Rachel, no kids, no sneaking. Just_ them _. As it was supposed to be._

_They were cuddling in bed, sweaty and stained and stinking of sex, and much too tired to get up and clean themselves. So Sebastian held Vincent, felt his heartbeat, breathed in his scent, memorized the shape of his body, the heat of his skin._

_Sebastian felt happy, in these moments. A rare emotion, and he cherished it._

_He never brought up Rachel or the twins on these days, he didn’t want to. Not in the way of casual conversation, and not in the way of query._

Why did you marry her?

Why didn’t you stay with me?

What do you want from me?

Why am I still here?

_No. He didn’t want to hear. Neither the awkward fumbling of words strung together in poorly constructed answers, nor the heavy silence loud in his ears. Both would hurt. No answer would be enough. There was no careful string of letters that would quell his heart._

_So he held Vincent. Tight, warm, against his body and against his mind, knowing no one else could fill him up and claim him like Sebastian, and no one would. Not like him. Not with the same love._

Love _._

_Such a miserable word._

_Sebastian kissed the top of Vincent’s head. “You need to take a bath, at some point.”_

_Vincent hummed, curled up closer to his lover. “You need to shut up.”_

_“You need to stop being a brat.”_

_Vincent hushed him with a kiss. Soft, too soft. Too slow. Wet and humming against his abused lips. “You need to let me rest, I can’t walk quite yet, you did a number on me.”_

_“I’ll carry you.”_

_“You wouldn’t dare.”_

Oh _, so it was a challenge? A sudden mess of limbs broke the silence, with Sebastian attempting to lift Vincent up, bridal style, and Vincent laughing, pushing him away, and trying his hardest to tickle Sebastian._

 _“You_ do _know I’m not ticklish.”_

_“Yeah, it usually works with Rachel, sometimes I forget.” Vincent chuckled, sweaty and soft on the bed, underneath his lover._

_Sebastian tried to will his smile to not drop. Failed._

_Sometimes it happened. Her name._

_“Hey, baby,” Vincent held the man’s cheeks, worry pooling in his eyes. “I love you.”_

_“I love you, too.” And it was honest, but it hurt just the same._

_There was a moment of silence, as they shuffled back into a loose cuddle._

_“Seb, can I ask you something?”_

_“Hm?”_

_“How do you feel about my kids?”_

_Sebastians’s mouth was a thin line. “Sudden.”_

_“Yeah, well… I’ve been thinking--”_

_“That’s dangerous.”_

_“Shut up. I’ve been thinking, if you’re their godfather, that means you take them in if Rachel and I pass away.”_

_“Or run away into the country to live happily ever after, childless, raising chickens.”_

_“Yes, exactly,” Vincent poked Sebastian’s side, rolling his eyes and chuckling. “No, I mean… do you want me to change that? I can change it in my Will. If something happens, they can go to a family member.”_

_Sebastian thought about it. Vincent dying, Rachel dying. The boys moving in. It was a terrifying thought, yes, certainly._

_But he thought about the boys, and the idea of them going to some faraway family member who never knew them, who never held them, changed their diapers, heated up baby food, dried their hands after they washed them, helped them with homework…_

_Sebastian didn’t want kids. Never wanted them. But he didn’t want the boys to lose everything, if the time did come._

_“No,” he finally said, stroking Vincent’s cheek. “They’re my boys too.” It sounded too cheesy, though, so he remedied, “Not like I had a choice, what with you and Rachel making me a third parent.”_

_Vincent smiled, and it was beautiful. And suddenly all Sebastian’s fears were absurd, ridiculous. Losing Vincent. What a joke._

_“I’d like that. I’d like you to raise them like I would,” Vincent’s eyes fluttered shut, thick eyelashes fanning his flushed cheeks, framing the gorgeous little mole under his left eye. “Love them like I would.”_

_Sebastian could look at him forever.“Not like you’d ever die.”_

_“Absolutely not, I’m invincible.”_

_“You totaled three cars. Sober.”_

_“That only further proves my point.”_

_Sebastian rolled his eyes, “You’re impossible.” And kissed his lover’s forehead, his cheek, and soft on his lips._

_“You wouldn’t have it any other way.”_

_And Vincent was right._

_Sebastian’s life was a mess of relationships, of unchecked trauma, of hushed feelings, but he had Vincent, the moronic prick. And that was enough._

_And he wouldn’t have it any other way._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pls follow me on my art twt acc OverexcitedDrgn I'm a drawer and I'm horny


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